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<• !  V 


1.0 


I.I 


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H:   1^    11 2.0 


MUt. 


u 


1.25     U    1  \h 

1  ^ 

■• 6" 

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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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I 


-!5«^>-#— -Tr?^;5" 


iiisfrss?" 


I II I  I^ILI   Mlllil,  ,IU 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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20X 


24X 


28X 


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% 


4 


itajis 
s  du 
lodifier 
'  une 
mage 


srrata 
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32X 


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,     i :  ;: 

L    $  :  ' 

3 

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dernidre  Image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
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•A  SUIVRE",  le 


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illustrent  la  m6thode. 


THE 


HERO  OF  START  POINT 


/\ND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 


/ 


/ 


J,  MACDONALD  OXLEY 

Author  of 

"ArchU  McKcnvc-  -  Bert  LloyJ-.  HoyhooJ. "  ■'  DiamcJ  Rock,  -  "  Fergus 

MacTa-ctih, "  "  In  Ihc  IIVA/s  of  the  Wat  Co,,it. "  etc. 


I 

•5l 


^^ 


NOV  12^«^^  1 

v>^,, ^<^/ 


PHILADELPHIA 

AMERICAN   BAPTIST   PUBLICATION   SOCIETY  ,^  p^  ^  yjj  "^ 

1896 


^-^ 


MWMw»4H«aMnAM*M»i»-W#^ 


Copyright  i8y6  by  the 
Amf.kican  lUrrisr  1'iiii.ication  Societv 


ffrom  tbc  Society's  own  press 


NOTE 


Society 


7'/ii'  author  hcs;!  lo  i\v/>irss  /lis  ob/is^afions  to  Missrs.  lliirpcr  &' 
Bros.,  the  American  Baptist  I'lihlimtion  Society,  and  the  pub- 
lishers of  ''Our  Youth,"  "  I  Fide  Awake,"  "The  Christian 
Union,"  "  7 he  youths'  Companion,"  and  "  The  Sunday  School 
Times,"  in  whose  publications  many  of  the  folUnoing  stories  first 

appeared.  • 

J.  M.  O. 


-KgTfiTiTn-ti  \tt,inmti}\im^m»im' 


I 


m 


CONTENTS 


TiiK  IIhro  ov  Stakt  I'oiNr, 7 

A  1,1  nil.  ItAY  IIkkoink 19 

Captain  Hinnaclk's  Lkctcke  on  Sea  Terms  Ashore,     .  29 

IIkau  Downwark, 37 

Caitght  in  Smucu-.i.kr's  Cave, 4J 

SoMETIIINCJ  AHOUT  TIIK  SeA-SERI'ENT, 55 

Cai'iain,  Crew,  and  Pilot  too 61 

Never-dying  Words, 71 

In  the  Forefront  ok  the  Fire, 77 

lilTTKN    IN   THE   HeEL 87 

Eric's  Ordeal 97 

Stories  of  Animals  and  Birds, loj 

Bright-Eyf^s, .     .  119 

The  Puppy,  the  Hen,  and  the  Big  Dog, 125 

MooLEY  to  the  Rescue, 129 

In  the  Footstei-s  of  Philii', 133 

5 


■UMMWB 


tf  CONTENTS 

llnl.li   ON,    IlARdin! 141 

I'llK    I'.MSK  TKsr  AM)    llIK  'IrIK I49 

Kai.1'11  Wki. Dun's  Rkiriii, 157 

TitK  C»H'KA(il'.   AND   CuURlKSV   ol'  A   t'llKIMIAN,         .      .      .  165 

A  Crkat  1>I':ai.  of  Nkrvk, 173 

A  Pair  or  Skatrs  and  a  Hi  ri.kv 179 

SaNDV  C'AMKRON    10  TIIE  Rksci'k, 191 

Savki>  on  tiik  Krink, 203 

TiiK  Professor's  Last  Skatk 211 

OvKR  TIIK  Dam, 219 

A  'I'rio  of  Truf.  Oiiost  Storif:s, 227 

Dennis  Donaiuf.'s  Dekd, 233 

TiiK  Rf^sci'e  of  Litti-e  Jud 245 


1 1.\> 


141 

'49 

•57 
105 

'73 
'79 
191 
203 
211 
219 
227 
233 
24s 


^ 
/'f. 


*o\n!^. 


^ 


Mnl  lll.K.  ;     h.iw    IM 

like  to  liL'  a  Ir'Iii  !  "  i'\- 

I  laiiiu'd  Saiiincl  l'aii|ilr>tinc. 

•♦"^iP^  ■■'■/      ~'jfc|      Inukiii^  u|i  with  llashing  eyes 

'^■MtPr     'mp''       11''"  lii^   inotlier's  face  tVoin 

j^jt^        iIh'    lioiik  ill   wliii  li    ho    liad 


In'tii  liir  llu'   hi^l   htiiir  read- 
in;,'  aliiiiii    I,(ird    \el>i>ii   and   the'   lialile  nf 
'rral'al.uar. 
"  A  lieid.  Sam?     \\li\.  wtial  put  tlial  into  your 
liead  ?  "  iiii|uireil  liis  uiotlier  kiudl\'. 
"Oil.   I  want  tiiliea  lurn  like  Lord  Nelson  and  have 
everyltoily    lUdud    of    ine.      ]\\>\    think,    mother,    how 
f,'rand  it  would  he  tor  me  to  ha\e  the  i|ueen  t;i\ing  mc 
honors,  as  Kin.L;  (u'or.ne  did  to  Lord  Nelson  !" 

'•  llul  don't  you  think  then'  are  hettrr  \\a_\s  ol'  Wwv^ 
a  hero  than  hein;,'  a  .ureal  admiral  or  a  lanious  general, 
Sam?  I'iieir  business  is  to  kill  jieojile.  and  the  more 
they  kill  the  more  renowned  they  hecome.  Now.  if  I 
wantetl  to  hi'  a  hero  and  win  honors,  1  think  I  would 
rather  do  it  hy  savinic  peojiie's  lives,  like  (Iraie  Darling. 
than  h\'  taking  them,  like  your  famous  warriors. " 

"  Well,  tluU'sso,  mother,"  a;-  •  iited  Sam,  half  regret- 


r 


s^WMb 


i'i 


8 


THE    HERO    OE    START    POINT 


fully.  "  Of  course  it's  a  great  pity  that  'here  should 
be  big  battles  and  lots  of  people  killed;  but  1  can't 
help  feeling  as  if  I'd  like  to  be  some  kind  of  a  hero,  all 
the  same." 

"That's  all  right,  Sam  ;  there's  no  harm  in  wanting 
to  be  a  hero,  and  [jcrhaps  you'll  have  the  chancx'  to  be 
one  some  day;  but  don't  be  so  foolish  as  to  hang 
about  waiting  for  the  chance  to  come.  There  are  plenty 
of  heroes — and  heroines  too.  Lucy,"  added  Mrs. 
I'applestine,  turning  to  a  girl  a  little  younger  than  Sam, 
who  sat  at  a  window,  stitching  busily,  "that  never  get 
honors  from  king  or  cjueen,  but  whose  lives  are  full  of 
heroism,  nevertheless,  and  who  have  honor  in  heaven 
though  they  may  be  (juite  unknown  down  here." 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  hardly  strong  enough  to  do  what 
Clrace  Darling  did,  mother,"  said  Lucy,  looking  out 
from  her  window  ')ver  the  vast  expanse  of  wrinkled  sea 
that  stretched  away  before  her  eyes  until  it  mingled  with 
the  distant  sky.  "  But,  Sam,  I'm  sure,  is  strong  enough 
for  anything;  and  he  can  manage  a  boat  so  splendidly." 

At  this  flattering  remark  Sam  s])rang  to  his  feet,  drew 
himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and  looked  remarkably 
like  a  young  rooster  just  about  to  crow,  but  before  he 
could  say  what  was  on  his  lips  his  father  came  into  the 
room,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  tea,  thus  putting  an 
end  to  the  conversation. 

Samuel  Papplestine's  father  was  the  keeper  of  the 
light  at  Start  Point,  and  if  you  want  to  find  where  that 
is  you  must  take  a  ma])  of  England  and  look  cnrefully 
along  its  southern  shore  until  you  come  to  the  County 


OINT 


THE    HERO    OF   S^ART    POINT 


9 


that  'here  should 
led  ;  but  1  can' t 
:ind  of  a  hero,  all 

I  harm  in  wanting 
the  chanrc  to  be 
olish  as  to  hang 
There  are  plenty 
y,"  added  Mrs. 
ounger  than  Sam, 
,  ' '  that  never  get 
:;  lives  are  full  of 
honor  in  heaven 
own  here." 
lough  to  do  what 
l.ucy,  looking  out 
ie  of  wrinkled  sea 
til  it  mingled  with 
:,  is  strong  enough 
at  so  splendidly." 
g  to  his  feet,  drew 
3oked  remarkably 
iw,  but  before  he 
ler  came  into  the 
,  thus  putting  an 

he  keeper  of  the 
to  find  where  that 
ind  look  cnrefully 
ne  to  the  County 


of  Devon.  Once  you  have  found  Devon  you  can't 
miss  Start  Point,  it  thrusts  itself  so  boldly  out  into  the 
ocean,  being  the  list  bit  of  terra  firma  visible  to  voy- 
agers outward  bound  and  the  first  to  those  returning 
homeward.  The  Devon  coast  is  very  rocky  and  danger- 
ous all  about  this  neighborhood,  the  cliffs  ri.iing  in  some 
places  to  a  height  of  nearly  two  hundred  feet,  their 
long,  stern  lines  only  here  and  there  breaking  into  little 
bays,  which  make  snug  havens  where  the  ocean  billows 
may  foam  out  their  strength  harmlessly  ujjon  the  yellow 
sands  instead  of  thunderins  madly  at  the  foot  of  the 
crag!^  that  have  been  the  destruction  of  many  a  stately 
ship  and  precious  life. 

Start  Point  Light  stands  right  out  upon  the  extreme 
end  of  the  Point,  sending  its  friendly  gleams  that  are 
so  welcome  to  the  mariner  ftir  over  the  ever-tossing 
waters  of  the  Pjiglish  Channel.  So  close  is  it  to  the 
edge  of  the  cliff  that  you  might  almost  jump  from  one 
of  the  seaward  windows  clear  down  to  the  ' '  cold  gray 
stones,"  u])on  which  the  waves  ceaselessly  "break, 
break,  break."  It  would  not  be  a  wise  thing  to  do, 
and  theie  would  be  small  chance  of  one's  surviving  to 
relate  his  experience,  but  an  active  fellow,  like  Sam 
Papplestine  for  instance,  might  accomplish  the  feat  at  a 
pinch.  In  fact,  there  were  times  when  Sam,  standing 
by  the  open  window  and  listening  to  old  ocean's 
thunder  far  below  him,  felt  half  tempted  to  try  it. 
Fortunately,  however,  for  himself,  and  also  for  some 
other  pecjple,  Sam  was  never  more  than  half  tempted, 
and  that  of  course  amounts  to  r.othing. 


lO 


THE    HERO    OF    START    I'UlNT 


The  top  of  the  chff  was  fairly  level,  and  bein.j  covered 
with  deep  turf,  made  good  lands  for  crops  and  cattle, 
of  which  Mr.  Fapplestine  took  advantage  lo  have  ([uite 
a  fine  little  farm,  that  he  worked  on  when  liis  ligiilhouse 
duties  were  performed.  Sam  was  a  great  iielp  "to  him 
in  looking  after  the  farm,  lor  he  was  a  big,  strong, 
sturdy  lad  of  fourteen  now,  and  liked  nothing  better 
than  working  away  with  nis  father  after  the  school  hours 
were  over.  Lucy  too,  thougii  only  twelve,  did  her 
share  by  helping  her  mother  in  the  care  of  the  dairy, 
the  fowl-yard,  r.nd  the  garden,  so  Lhat  altogether  they 
were  a  very  busy,  hapi)y,  and  cuuiented  fami!\ 

At  one  side  of  the  Point  the  cliffs  opened  their  grim 
jaws  to  make  a  tiny  bay  that  was  a  blessed  haven  of 
refuge  to  many  an  endangered  shi)).  and  here  Sam 
found  the  great  enjoyment  of  iiis  life  in  sailing  or  row- 
ing the  trim  little  boat  given  him  by  his  father  in  reward 
for  his  work  on  the  farm.  He  always  had  t'he  whole  of 
Saturday  to  himself,  his  father  wisely  thinking  that  five 
days'  work  in  the  week  was  <iuite  enough  for  any  bo\-. 
and  there  was  not  a  happier  lad  in  all  luigland  than 
Sam  Fapplestine  when,  on  a  bright,  sunny  Saturday 
morning,  with  his  dinner  packed  in  lis  school-bag  on 
his  back,  he  would  set  forth  for  a  whole  long  chi\-  on  the 
water  in  comi)any  with  some  of  !iis  playmates  at  the 
Kingsbridge  Grammar  School.  in  rowing,  sailing, 
swimming,  or  hunting  for  caves  among  the  tliifs,  the 
golden  hours  would  pass  all  too  q.iicl  'y.  and  the  setting 
sun  warn  them  that  it  was  time  to  be  going  home,  long 
before    they  were    tired   of   thei;-  f-jn.     ikit  then.,   of 


NT 


THE    HERO    OF   START    POINT 


II 


:\  bein.j  covered 

•ops  and  eatlle, 

e  U)  have  (|iiite 

n  liis  liglulioiise 

:at  lielp  lo  him 

a    l)i^^  strong, 

notliin^'  lieUer 

he  scliool  liours 

uelve,    did    her 

re  61'  tlie  dairy, 

altogether  they 

family 

ened  their  grim 
lessed  haven  of 
and   here  Sam 
sailing  or  row- 
father  in  reward 
ad  the  whole  of 
inking  that  fi\e 
ifli  for  any  Ixjy, 
11  England  than 
sunny  Saturday 
s  school-bag  on 
long  day  on  the 
laymates  at  the 
rowing,    sailing, 
,r  the  cliffs,  the 
and  the  setting 
)ing  home,  long 
But   then,   of 


course,   th?it  made  them  look  forward  only  the  more 
eagerly  to  the  next  Saturday. 

In  the  long  simimer  evenings,  when  there  were  those 
wonderful  twilights  which  are  peculiar  to  dear  old  Eng- 
land, Sam  would  often  be  honored  1>\-  having  his  father 
and  mother  and  Lucy  as  passengers  on  board  his  boat, 
and  then  how  proudly  he  would  row  them  up  and  down 
the  bay  and  out  to  the  narrow  mouth,  where  they 
would  be  tumbled  about  a  bit,  rather  to  Lucy's  alarm, 
by  the  ocean's  swell. 

After  this  pleasant  fashion  the  summer  of  1866  had 
passed  away,  and  autumn,  with  its  cool,  cloudy  days 
and  frequent  storms,  had  come.  The  work  upon  the 
farm  was  nearly  finished,  and  there  were  no  more  de- 
lightful Saturdays  down  in  the  bay.  IVKmy  a  night  did 
Mr.  Papplestine  spend  in  the  lighthouse  tower  or  pac- 
ing up  and  down  the  cliff-edge  looking  out  across  the 
angry  billows  for  the  danger  signals  that  would  mean 
deadly  i)eril  to  shij)  and  seamen.  No  light-keeper  was 
more  faithful  to  his  duties  than  he,  none  had  a  kinder 
heart  or  was  cjuicker  in  giving  aid  tc  any  who  might  be 
in  danger  ;  and  so  when  one  dark,  threatening  Novem- 
ber morning  a  letter  came  summoning  him  to  Kings- 
bridge  on  some  important  business  which  would  keep 
him  there  all  night,  he  was  a  long  time  making  up  his 
mind  to  go,  for  he  did  not  like  the  idea  of  leaving  Sam 
and  his  mother  to  look  after  the  light  in  that  kind  of 
weather.  Had  it  been  midsummer  he  would  have 
thought  nothing  of  it.  Mrs.  Papplestine,  however, 
persuaded  him  to  go,  saying  that  she  and  Sam  would 


12 


THE   HERO   OF   START    POINT 


Stay  up  all  night  together,  and  if  they  saw  any  danger 
signals  would  send  word  immediately  to  the  coast-guard 
station,  three  miles  off. 

So,  with  a  good  deal  of  misgiving  and  many  injunc- 
tions to  his  wife  and  son,  Mr.  Fapplestine  set  out  that 
afternoon,  promising  to  be  home  the  very  first  thing  in 
the  morning. 

Sam  felt  as  proud  as  Punch  at  being  left  in  charge, 
for  of  course,  as  the  only  man  in  the  house,  he  consid- 
ered that  the  chief  burden  of  responsibility  fell  upon 
him,  and  so  when  night  came,  with  a  very  important  face 
h'  made  many  a  tour  of  the  lamps,  inspecting  each  one 
carefully,  and  between-whiles  gazing  earnestly  out  over 
the  water  from  the  front  windows.  A  storm  which  had 
suddenly  come  up,  broke  forth  shortly  after  sundown 
and  reached  its  height  by  midnight,  the  wind  raging 
about  the  lighthouse  tower  with  terrible  fury  and  the 
rain  pouring  down  like  a  scattered  cataract. 

The  long  night  wore  slowly  away  and  the  darkest 
hour  of  all,  that  which  is  just  before  the  dawn,  had 
come,  when  Sam,  dozing  for  a  moment  in  his  chair,  was 
suddenly  awakened  by  a  call  from  his  mother,  who  had 
been  looking  out  the  front  window. 

"Sam,  Sam,  come  here  !  I  think  I  saw  a  signal  of 
distress." 

Sam  sprang  to  his  feet  and  rushing  to  the  window, 
peered  eagerly  out,  but  could  see  nothing  but  the  dark- 
est of  darkness. 

"  Must  have  been  mistaken,  mother,"  said  he.  •»! 
can't  even  see  any  lights." 


IT 


THE    HERO    OK   ST.ART    POINT 


13 


;aw  any  danger 
:he  coast-guard 

I  many  injunc- 
e  set  out  that 
■y  first  thing  in 

left  in  charge, 
use,  he  consid- 
lility  fell  upon 
important  face 
icting  each  one 
lestly  out  over 
arm  which  had 
after  sundown 
e  wind  raging 
i  fury  and  the 
:t. 

id  the  darkest 
he  dawn,  had 
1  his  chair,  was 
ther,  who  had 

aw  a  signal  of 

0  the  window, 
;  but  the  dark- 


said  he. 


1 


"Oh,  no.  I'm  perfectly  certain  I  saw  a  rocket  or 
Roman  candle  or  something  of  that  kind,"  replied  his 
mother.      •'  Yes,  see  !     There  it  goes  again  '.  " 

And  sure  enough,  a  thin,  sharp  streak  of  flame  rising 
from  somewhere  amid  the  tossing  surges,  split  the  dark- 
ness like  a  flash  of  lightning  and  then  vanished. 

"  That's  the  danger  signal,  mother,  and  no  mistake," 
cried  Sam.  "The  ship's  coming  right  toward  us. 
She'll  strike  on  the  Point  before  long.  I  must  go  to  the 
cliff  and  see  if  I  can  make  her  out." 

"Be  careful,  then,  Sam  dear,"  said  his  mother, 
"and  don't  do  anything  without  letting  me  know." 

Sam  buttoned  up  his  coat,  pulled  his  cap  down  hard 
upon  his  head  and  sallied  forth  into  the  storm,  which 
well-nigh  took  his  breath  away.  But  he  struggled  man- 
fully against  it  until  he  reached  a  sheltered  nook  in  the 
cliffs,  whence  it  was  possible  to  look  out  seaward. 

For  some  time  he  could  see  nothing  save  the  danger 
signals  that  continued  to  be  sent  up.  Then,  as  the 
darkness  began  to  lighten  before  the  approach  of  day, 
he  was  able  to  faintly  discern  a  large  vessel  lying  help- 
lessly, upon  one  of  the  cruel  ledges  which  jut  out  from 
the  Point,  while  the  great  billows  were  making  a  clean 
breach  over  her.  At  first  nothing  could  be  seen  of  the 
unfortunate  crew,  but  as  the  light  grew  stronger  he  made 
out  one  and  then  another  clinging  fast  to  the  rigging, 
and  looking  more  like  flies  than  human  beings.  Sam 
knew  well  enough  that  they  could  not  stay  there  long, 
for  the  vessel  must  soon  go  to  pieces.  He  quickly  de- 
termined what  to  do.     Hastening  back  to  his  mother  he 


>4 


THE    HKRO    OF   START    I'OINT 


told  her  what  he  had  seen,  asked  her  to  wake  i:p  Lucy 
and  send  her  off  for  tlie  coast-guard,  while  he  himself 
ran  to  the  barn,  gatlicred  together  a  lot  of  good  strong 
roi)e  he  knew  to  be  there,  and  bringing  it  back  to  the 
house,  he  and  his  mother  tied  it  together,  bit  by  bit,  until 
they  had  more  than  a  hundred  feet.  This  they  took 
down  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  fastening  one  end 
securely  to  a  jutting  peak,  flung  the  other  over  so  that 
it  fell  into  the  water  nearly  one  hundred  feet  below. 

But  what  did  all  this  mean  ?  Of  what  use  was  that 
rope  to  the  imperiled  men  clinging  for  life  to  the  bat- 
tered hull  a  full  {juarter  of  a  mile  away  ?  Ah,  Sam  had 
not  lived  fourteen  years  at  Start  Point  Light  for  nothing. 
He  knew  every  ledge,  rock,  and  current  as  well  as  he  did 
his  alphabet,  and  his  quick  eye  had  shown  him  that  if 
the  men  were  washed  off  the  wreck  they  would  be 
tossed  by  the  pitiless  waves  against  the  foot  of  the  cliff 
right  below  where  he  was  standing,  and  if  not  rescued 
at  once  would  perish  miserably. 

Well,  but  how  did  he  propose  to  rescue  them  ? 
Surely  not  by  chmbing  down  that  slender  rope  in  the 
face  of  such  a  storm  and  helping  them  when  they  came 
within  his  reach  ?  Precisely.  All  unexpectedly  the 
chance  his  mother  spoke  of  had  come,  and  the  purposes 
of  his  boyish  heart  were  as  heroic  now  as  any  that  ever 
stirred  in  the  heart  of  a  Nelson. 

Presently  what  Sam  expected  took  ulace.  An  enor- 
mous breaker  swept  over  the  half-subi  lerged  hull,  and 
tearing  two  of  the  seamen  from  their  jilace  in  the  rig- 
ging, bore  them  like  mere  chips  toward  the  cliff. 


THE    HERO    OF   START    I'OINT 


15 


ivake  1:0  Lucy 
ilc  lie  himself 
)f  good  strong 
it  back  to  the 
jit  by  bit,  until 
'his  they  took 
ning  one  end 
;r  over  so  that 
feet  below. 
:  use  was  that 
fe  to  the  bat- 
Ah,  Sam  had 
It  for  nothing, 
well  as  he  did 
vn  him  that  if 
ley  would  be 
»ot  of  the  cliff 
if  not  rescued 

rescue  them  ? 
r  rope  in  the 
len  they  came 
xpectedly  the 
i  the  purposes 
any  that  ever 

:e.  An  enor- 
•ged  hull,  and 
,ce  in  the  rig- 
he  cliff. 


"  C)h,  Sam  dear,  I'm  afraid.  It's  a  dreadful  dan- 
gerous thing  for  you  to  ilo  :  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tapple- 
stinc  nervously,  as  Sam  grasping  the  rope,  prepar*  d  to 
descent!. 

"Never  fear,  motlicr,  I'm  all  safe.  I  wi)n't  let  go 
of  the  rope,"  answered  Sam,  as  he  tlisappeared  over 
the  ed^a'  of  the  cliff  and  descended  swiftly,  holding  the 
ro[ie  tightly  in  both  hands  and  bracing  his  feet  against 
the  rugged  face  of  the  rock.  Hand  over  hand  he  went 
down  until  at  length,  at  the  bottom,  he  reac  bed  a  nar- 
row ledge  which  afforded  him  a  precarious  foothold. 
U'itiiout  the  aiil  of  the  rope  he  could  not  have  stayed 
therv-"  a  moment,  for  the  spray  s])rang  high  over  his 
head,  and  every  now  and  then  a  wave  would  strike 
fiercely  at  him.  Once,  indeed,  a  particularly  big  fellow 
swept  him  clear  off  liis  feet,  and  for  a  moment  he 
tliought  it  was  all  over  with  him.  for  several  yards  of 
tiie  wet  rope  slipped  through  his  ingers  almost  before 
he  knew  it.  Hut,  gripping  the  her.ip  with  all  his  might, 
he  soon  checked  himself,  and  then,  taking  advantage  of 
the  next  incoming  wave,  regained  his  perch. 

He  (lid  so  just  in  time,  for  ho  had  hardly  '^otten  a 
firm  foothold  when,  looking  out  through  the  olinding 
si)ray.  lie  saw  the  two  sailors  coming  toward  him  amid 
the  waves.  He  shouted  ai  the  top  of  his  voice.  They 
heard  him  and  struck  out  in  his  direction.  Then  down 
they  went  into  the  trough  of  the  sea  out  of  sight.  Up 
thev  :ame  again,  fighting  bravely  for  their  lives.  Thus 
sinkmg  and  rising  they  drew  near  until  they  were  at 
Sam's  feet.      Here  they  narrowly  escaped  being  hurled 


i6 


TllK    HEKO    OF   START    TOFNT 


with  fatal  force  upon  the  cruel  rocks,  but  tl.eir  sailor 
ninihleiicss  stood  them  in  good  stead,  and  grasping 
Sam's  outstretched  hand,  in  another  moment  both  were 
standing  beside  him  on  the  ledge,  and  all  three  holding 
on  to  the  rope  for  dear  life. 

While  this  was  going  on  Lucy  had  been  speeding  to- 
wartl  the  coast-guard  station  for  assistance,  l-ortunately 
she  had  not  gone  half-way  before  she  met  the  guard 
hastening  to  the  I'oint,  for  the  danger  signals  had  been 
observed  by  them.  Pressing  on  as  fast  as  they  could, 
they  came  to  where  Mrs.  rajjplestine  knelt  beside  the 
TO\)c  praying  for  the  safety  of  her  boy. 

"Thank  dod,'  you've  come !"  she  cried,  as  the 
guard  ran  up.  "Quick,  now,  fasten  another  rope  to 
the  rock  and  send  one  of  the  men  down. ' ' 

"Aye,  aye!"  answered  the  captain  of  the  guard 
cheerily. 

With  practised  speed  a  strong  rope  was' made  fast, 
the  end  flung  over  the  cliff,  and  one  of  the  men  sent 
down.  Reaching  the  ledge  he  found  Sam  and  the  two 
sailors  clinging  fast  to  their  rope  and  wondering  when 
succor  would  come  to  them. 

"All  right,  my  hearties  !"  shouted  the  coast-guard. 
"You're  safe  now.  They'll  send  another  rope  down 
presently." 

Sure  enough,  down  came  the  rope,  having  a  sling  at 
the  end  by  which,  one  after  another,  Sam  and  the 
sailors  were  drawn  uj)  to  the  top,  where  Mrs.  Fap[)le- 
stine  clasped  her  boy  to  her  heart  with  tears  of  joy 
brimming  her  eyes. 


• 


SIT 

but  tl.cir  sailor 
,  and  grasping 
iiicnt  both  were 
II  three  hulding 

;n  speeding  to- 
e.  Fortunately 
met  the  guard 
gnals  had  been 
as  they  could, 
lelt  beside  the 

cried,    as    the 
lother  rope  to 
1." 
of  the  guard 

kvas  made  fast, 
f  the  men  sent 
im  and  the  two 
ondering  when 

e  coast-guard, 
ler  rope  down 

ving  a  sling  at 

Sam    and   the 

•i  Mrs.  Pa|)ple- 

h  tears  of  joy 


THE    IIF.RO    or    START    I'OINT 


17 


Severe  as  his  exertions  had  been,  .Sam  was  little  the 
worse  for  them,  and  he  did  not  leave  the  spot  until  he 
had  the  satisfaction  of  .seeing  every  one  of  the  crew 
rescued  in  just  the  same  way  as  the  two  men  who  owed 
their  lives  to  him. 

The  fame  of  so  gallant  a  .leed  of  course  (piickly 
spread.  First  of  all  the  neigliborliood  was  I'llled  with 
it.  'I'hen  the  newspapers  took  it  up,  and  finally  it 
reached  the  ears  of  the  (^ueen  of  l-Jigland.  l'i(  turc  t(j 
yourself,  then,  the  astonishment  of  the  light-keeper  and 
his  family  when  one  f  ne  day  a  message  came  from  Her 
(Iracious  Majesty  that  slie  desired  to  reward  the  bravery 
of  Master  Samuel  I'applestine,  a  full  report  of  whicii 
had  reached  her  ears.  In  accordance  therewith,  with 
her  own  royal  hands  she  had  sent  him  the  Xidoria 
and  Albert  medal. 

Ah,  that  was  a  proud  day  for  Sam  and  all  belonging 
to  him.  When  he  opened  the  rich  morocco  ( asc  luid 
showed  them  the  gold,  oval-sliaped  badge  bearing  the 
royal  monogram  of  V  and  A,  interlaced  with  an  anchor 
and  surrounded  by  a  bronze  garter  having  upon  it  in 
letters  of  gold  the  significant  words,  "  For  gallantry  in 
saving  life  at  sea,"  his  mother  threw  her  arms  about  his 
neck  and  jjressing  a  kiss  upon  his  forehead  said,  with 
deep  emphasis  : 

"Sam,  darling,  do  you  remember  your  talk  about 
wishing  to  be  a  hero  like  Nelson?  Wouldn't  you  now, 
rather  be  the  hero  of  Start  Point  than  the  'k  ■  1  of 
Trafalgar?" 

"Right  you  are,   mother,"  replied  Sam.      "But  if 


i8 


THE    IIEKO    OF    START    I'OINT 


Queen  Victoria  ever  wants  mc  to  fight  for  her  like  Lord 
Nelson  did,  I'll  be  ready." 

Many  a  proud  moment  came  to  Sam  afterward  as  he 
would  open  the  case  and  ga/e  at  the  handsome  medal. 
It  helped  to  keep  him  manly  always.  A  hoy  who  had 
been  deiorated  by  his  ipieen  could  not  be  other  than 
brave  and  true. 


'T  like  Lord 

rward  as  hv 
line  medal. 
yy  who  had 
other  than 


^LITTLE  BAY  HFROIhf^J.M 


■\. 


A'l'Hl'.R.    I  "lease  let   me 
go  with  you  tills  trip.     \'oii 
have  often  promised  to  take 
me,  and   1  do  want  so  nun  h 
to  go."    'I'hns  pleading,  I,i//.ie 
I'ilgrim   looked    up   eagerly  int(j 
^J     the     brown-bearded,    weather- 
tanned    face   of  Captain    Tilgrim,  of  the 
Little  Hay  fisliing  schooner,  "  ("od-seeker. " 
"Tut,  Lizzie,  aboard  ship's  not  the  place 
for  girls.      V'ou  are  much  better  at  home. 
You'd  only  be   in   the  way.      What  could 
you  do  to  make  yourself  useftd,  I'd  like  to 
know?"   said  her  father,  smiling  kindly  upon 


her. 


"  Why,  lots,"  rei)licd  I,izzie  jiromptly. 
"I    could    set    tiie    table,  wash    the 
dishes,  make  your  bed,  and  plenty 
-      other  things.     Do  take  me;  that's 
-J      a  de.-ir,  kind  father  I" 

"So  you  would  like  to  be  our 
little   stewardess,   eh?     Just  fourteen 

19 


20 


A    LITFLE    UAV    HEROINE 


years  old  and  eager  to  liiro  out  already,"  laughingly 
said  Captain  Tilgiiui.  "Very  well,  l.i//ie,  since  yn.i 
want  to  go  so  badly,  you  can  come  this  trip  ;  but  mind 
you,  it's  not  the  tun  you  scein  to  think  it  is." 

"You're  a  dear,  darling  lather  ;  that's  just  what  you 
arc  !  "  chirped  the  delighted  girl,  giving  the  captain  an 
ecstatic  hug.  "I'll  just  be  the  best  stewardess  yuu 
ever  had;  see  if  I  don't  !  And  now  1  must  go  anil 
tell  mother  right  off."  Whereupon  she  slid  over  the 
side  of  the  schooner  to  the  wharf  and  s(  ampered  off  as 
fast  as  her  legs  could  carry  her,  her  father  fondly  look- 
ing after  her  and  saying  half  aloud  to  him;  di : 

"She's  a  chip  of  the  old  block,  and  no  mistake. 
She  takes  to  the  water  as  naturally  as  a  sea  gull." 

Lizzie  Pilgrim  hurried  up  the  rude  wharf  and  along 
the  village  street  until  she  came  to  a  cozy  white  cot- 
tage, into  which  she  danced,  shouting  merrily  : 

"I'm  going  with  father,  I'm  going  with  father! 
Get  my  chest  ready,  mother.      I'm  going  with  father 

this  trip!" 

Mrs.  Pilgrim  came  out  from  the  kitchen,  where  she 
had  been  making  bread,  with  her  arms  floured  to  the 

elbows. 

"Did  father  say  you  could  go?"  she  queried  half 

incredulously. 

"Yes,  mother,  and  I'm  to  be  stewardess;  so  get  my 
things  ready,"  answered  Lizzie  exultantly. 

'<  Well,  I  must  say  I  don't  quite  like  the  idea  of  your 
going  out  in  the  schooner,  Lizzie  ;  but  since  your  father 
said  you  could  go,  I  suppose  you'll  have  to.     I'm  glad 


laughingly 
,  since  yi)u 
;  t)iit  mind 

St  what  you 

.'  captain  an 

vardt'SH  you 

Hist  go  and 

lid  over  the 

ipered  off  as 

fondly  look- 

-•If; 

no  mist.ike. 

gull." 

■f  and  along 

;y  white  cot- 

■ily: 

,vith   father  ! 

;  with  father 

I,  where  she 
oured  to  the 

queried  half 

s ;  so  get  my 

;  idea  of  your 
:e  your  father 
:o.     I'm  glad 


A    LITTLE    BAY    IIKKOINE 


21 


the  weather's  so  good,  anyway.  Not  much  ( lumce  of 
a  storm  this  month."  .\nd  Mrs.  I'ilgriin  glanced  out 
of  the  window  toward  llic  bay,  whose  lilu«'  waters  lay 
sleeping  in  the  sununcr  sunshine  as  though  they  could 
never  do  the  slightest  harm  to  anybody. 

\.\/./.\c  I'ilgrim  was  the  only  child  who  had  come  In 
the  big  captain  and  his  comely  jiartner,  and  never  was 
daughter  more  dearly  loved,  liut  she  had  not  been 
s')oiled  for  all  that,  for  Mrs,  Tilgrim  was  just  as  sen- 
sible as  she  was  affectionate,  inheriting  her  father's 
sturdiness  and  her  mother's  good  looks,  l,i/./ie  was  at 
fourteen  a  very  attractive  girl  and,  thanks  to  her  bright, 
haiyi)y,  unselfish  nature,  the  greatest  favorite  in  the 
village. 

The  crew  of  the  "Cod-seeker"  were  delighted  when 
they  heard  that  the  captain's  lassie,  as  they  called  her, 
was  to  go  with  them. 

"  I'll  bet  my  best  boots  we'll  take  a  fine  fare  this 
trip,"  said  Yankee  Joe,  "for  we're  bound  to  have 
good  luck  with  Lizzie  on  board." 

And  so  it  proved,  Their  course  was  along  the  Labra- 
dor coast,  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  the  fish  were  fol- 
lowing the  schooner,  instead  of  the  schooner  having  to 
follow  the  fish.  Out  in  the  deep  water  the  cod  and 
haddock  came  tumbling  aboard,  while  inshore  the  seines 
again  and  again  took  hundred-barrel  hauls  of  fine,  fat 
mackerel.  All  on  board  were  in  high  spirits,  and  none 
more  so  than  Captain  Pilgrim  himself,  who  was  con- 
stantly telling  Lizzie  that  she  had  brought  him  the  best 
luck  he  had  ever  known. 


pil 


33 


A    LITTI-E    BAY    HEROINE 


Meanwhile  Lizzi.^  had  been  faithfully  keepi.ig  her 
part  of  the  bargain,  as  far  as  being  stewardess  was  rcMi- 
cerned.  Never  w.re  the  dishes  so  clean,  the  tins  si) 
bright,  the  table  so  neat,  or  the  captain's  cabin  kept  in 
such  perfect  order  as  now.  And,  besides  all  this,  the 
little  woman's  eyes  were  always  open  to  see  how  the 
sails  were  managed,  the  vessel  steered,  and  the  rest  of 
the  work  done  on  board  her  father's  schooner.  She 
was  particularly  fond  of  watching  the  anchor  dive  with 
a  great  splash  into  the  water  when  they  "  lay  to  "  for 
a  night  in  some  cpiiet  cove,  and  then  listening  to  the 
merry  "yo  heave  ho"  of  the  men,  and  the  clink-clank 
of  the  windlass  as  the  anchor  was  being  weighed  the 
following  morning. 

When  the  "Cod-seeker"  had  been  out  not  more 
than  three  weeks  her  hold  was  almost  full.  Another 
week  of  the  same  good  fortune  and,  with  a.fiire  that 
meant  plenty  of  money  in  everybody's  pockets,  the 
schooner  would  be  bowling  merrily  back  to  Little  Bay, 
when  she  came  to  anchor  one  night  in  Fish  Bay. 

The  next  morning  dawned  rather  dark  and  lowering, 
but  by  breakfast  time  it  had  cleared  off  somewhat  and 
the  day  looked  more  promising.  Lizzie,  who  had  got- 
ten through  with  her  breakfast  before  the  others,  hap- 
pened to  run  up  on  deck  for  a  minute,  and  imn-J^i- 
ately  came  rushing  back  almost  breathless  with  c.n.cu^ 
ment,  crying  out  : 

"  Quick,  father,  quick  !     The  bay  is  full  of  fish  !  " 
Captain  Pilgrim  sprang  hurriedly  on  deck,  followed 
by  the  whole  crew  vvho,  of  course,  never  thought  of 


1 


kecpi.ig  her 
less  was  coii- 
,  the  tins  so 
L'abin  kept  in 
1  all  this,  the 
see  how  the 
id  the  rest  of 
looner.  She 
hor  dive  with 
• '  lay  to  ' '  for 
ening  to  the 
le  clink-clank 
weighed  thfi 

jut  not  more 
.ill.  Another 
h  a.fiire  that 

pockein.    the 
to  Little  Bay, 
ih  Bay. 
and  lowering, 
somewhat  and 

who  had  got- 
i  others,  hap- 

and  imiiiO'li- 
is  with  cxciit 

ill  of  fish  !" 
leek,  followed 
er  thought  of 


A    LITTLE    BAY    HEROINE 


23 


Stopping  to  finish  their  meal,  and  there,  sure  enough, 
half-way  between  the  schooner  and  the  shore,  the 
water  was  fairly  black  w=th  a  splendid  school  of  mack- 
erel glittering  in  the  sunlight  as  they  plowed  the  water 
with  their  pointed  heads.  All  was  hurry  and  bustle 
then  on  board  the  "Cod-seeker."  The  dories  were 
hoisted  over  the  sides,  the  oars  and  nets  flung  pell-mell 
into  them,  and  within  five  minutes  every  man  on  board 
was  ready  for  the  fray,  the  captain  being  the  last  to 
leave  the  vessel,  giving  his  dau-hter  a  warm  kiss  as  he 
went  over  the  side,  and  saying  tenderly  : 

"  Now,  little  woman,  take  good  care  of  yourself  and 
the  schooner  till  we  come  back.  Don't  be  frightened 
at  our  leaving  you,  dear,  for  we  won't  go  out  of  your 
sight." 

"Frightened,  father?  Not  a  bit  of  it  !  I'll  have 
too  much  to  do  watching  you  to  be  frightened,"  said 
Lizzie,  as  she  skipped  lightly  to  her  station  on  top  of 
the  cabin,  whence  a  clear  view  of  the  whole  proceed- 
ings could  be  had.  And  what  a  lively  scene  it  was  ! 
As  swiftly  as  the  men  could  row,  and  as  silently  too 
(for  the  mackerel  must  not  be  alarmed,  lest  they  sink 
down  into  the  deep  water),  the  two  boats,  with  the 
seine  stretching  between  them,  described  a  circle  around 
the  fish  leaping  and  playing  about,  all  unconscious  of 
their  danger. 

Presently  a  triumphant  shout  announced  that  con- 
nection had  been  made  and  the  circle  completed.  The 
fish  were  hopelessly  surrounded.  Dart  hither  and 
thither  as  frantically  as  they  might,  their  beautiful  sil- 


I  ■ 


J. 


I 


Lml 


24 


A    LITTLE    BAY    HEROINE 


vered  scales  gleaming  through  the  water,  the.e  .vas  no 
escape  for  them.  Then,  all  the  dories  drawing  near, 
the  task  of  towing  the  seine,  with  its  precious  contents, 
into  shallow  water  began.  It  was  slow  work,  and  din- 
ner time  came  and  went  unheeded  by  the  men,  too 
intent  ui)on  their  toil  to  feel  the  pangs  of  hunger,  so 
that  it  did  not  matter  much  if  the  little  stewardess  for- 
got her  duties  for  once  while  she  followed  every  move- 
ment of  the  boats  with  eager  eyes. 

IJefore  the  work  was  half  over  the  wind  began  to  rise 
rapidly,  and  the  clouds  all  came  back  again  ;  but 
neither  the  busy  men  nor  the  watching  gir'  noticed  this 
until,  with  a  suddenness  that  is  seen  only  too  often 
upon  the  bleak  Labrador  coast,  a  fierce  squall  came 
sweeping  in  from  the  East,  and  almost  in  an  instant  the 
bay  was  broken  up  in  white-capped  waves,  and  the 
schooner  began  to  pitch  and  toss  and  tear  at  her  moor- 
ing chain  as  though  she  were  fretting  to  be  fret. 

Quickly  catching  the  alarm,  Captain  Pilgrim  shouted 
to  his  men  not  to  mind  the  fish  but  to  save  the  net  if 
possible,  and  then  seizing  one  oar  while  his  stoutest 
sailor  grasped  the  other,  he  turned  his  dory's  bow 
toward  the  schooner,  a  full  mile  away.  But  to  his  in- 
tense alarm  he  found  that  the  light,  flat-l.<ottomed  boat 
could  make  no  headway  in  such  a  sea.  Toil  and  try  as 
they  might,  the  billows  buffeted  tlie  little  craft  as  though 
it  were  a  mere  chip  and,  finally  overturning  it,  cast  it 
ui)  contemptuously  upon  the  beach,  leaving  the  caj^tain 
and  his  companion  to  struggle  ashore,  drenched  to  the 
skin  and  well-nigh  exhausted. 


the.t  .vas  no 
rawing  near, 
)us  contents, 
rk,  and  tlin- 
le  men,  too 
f  hunger,  so 
iwardess  for- 
every  move- 
began  to  rise 
again  ;  but 
noticed  this 
ly  too  often 
squall  came 
n  instant  the 
^es,  and  the 
at  her  moor- 
fret. 

;rim  shouted 
vn  the  net  if 
his  stoutest 
dory's  how 
ut  to  his  in- 
ttomed  boat 
)il  and  try  as 
ift  as  though 
ig  it,  cast  it 
[  the  ca]>tain 
iched  to  the 


A    LITTLE    DAY    HEROIXE 


ajf 


The  other  boats  were  treated  in  lii<e  manner,  and  ere 
long  the  entire  crew  were  standing  upon  the  beach  gaz- 
ing with  intense  anxiety  at  the  schooner  upon  which  the 
little  woman  they  all  loved  so  well  was  now  left  alonw 
in  the  midst  of  imminent  peril. 

"God  save  my  darling  ! "  groaned  the  captain.  "  If 
the  anchor  drags,  what  will  become  of  her  ?  ' ' 

And  the  anchor  does  drag  !  Only  too  plainly  the 
agonized  watchers  on  shore  can  see  that  the  tremendous 
strain  upon  the  siiort  It'ngth  of  cable  played  out  is  prov- 
ing too  much,  and  that  slowly  yet  surely  the  vessel  is 
drawing  near  a  rocky  point  over  which  the  furious  bil- 
lows ate  breaking  with  pitiless  force.  If  the  "Cod- 
seeker"  strikes  that  point  tiiere  can  be  no  rescue  either 
for  her  or  for  poor  little  Lizzie.  The  (aptain  can  do 
nothing  but  look  on  helplessly  and  pray  for  (iod  to 
interpose  somehow,  while  the  darling  of  his  heart  drifts 
steadily  to  her  doom. 

Meantime  how  was  it  with  Lizzie  ?  Frightened  at  first 
almost  to  the  verge  of  distraction  by  the  sudden  onset 
of  the  storm  and  her  father's  vain  efforts  to  reach  hor, 
shi;  u;'ve  herself  up  to  the  overmastering  terror,  calling 
out  frantically  :  "Father,  father!  come  to  me,  save 
me  I "  calling  so  loud  and  clear  as  even  to  make  herself 
heard  above  the  roar  of  the  blast,  every  cry  adding 
fresh  pangs  to  her  father's  misery,  'i'hen  realizing  how 
useless  this  was,  she  grew  calmer,  and  !o  !  there  stole 
gently  into  her  heart,  as  if  whispered  by  her  guardian 
angel,  the  words  she  had  so  nften  sung  with  her  mother 
at  home  : 


rrr 


""""^^B^^^^^I^piK 


26 


A    LITTLE    BAY    HEROINE 

While  llie  nearer  waters  roll, 
While  the  lempest  still  is  high. 


■J 


H 


\ 


JL 


Whereat  her  fear  seemed  to  leave  her,  and  again  the 
angel  whispered,  this  time  suggesting  : 

"Pay  out  all    the  cable.      Perhaps  the  anchor  will 
hold  then." 

The  schooner  was  rearing  and  plimging  like  a  mad 
thing,  her  bow  going  imder  every  minute,  and  the 
spray  sweeping  clear  across  her  decks.  But  dauntless 
Lizzie  crept  carefully  down  from  the  cabin  and  along 
the  slippery  deck,  holding  hard  to  the  bulwarks,  until 
she  reached  the  windlass.  She  knew  perfectly  well 
what  to  do,  for  often  had  she  watched  the  men  pay  out 
more  chain  when  they  found  the  mooring  too  short. 
The  foaming  waves  sprang  at  her  and  drenched  her  to 
the  skin.  They  dashed  into  her  face  and  alinost  smoth- 
ered her,  but  they  could  not  comjuer  her.  (Irasping 
the  loose  end  of  the  chain,  she  lifted  it  up  from  its  bed 
in  the  bows  and,  with  a  "clink-clank"  that  thrilled 
her  heart  with  hope,  the  barrel  of  the  windlass  revolved 
and  the  straining  cable  began  to  run  out.  Putting  forth 
all  her  strength  she  [)uiled  u))  the  chain  link  by  link 
while  it  payed  out  steadily  at  the  other  end  until  fathom 
after  fathom  had  been  added  to  the  length  of  the  moor- 
ing, and  the  schooner  drew  still  nearer  to  the  fatal 
breakers. 

Not  knowing  what  his  uaughter  was  about,  but 
noticing  her  disappearance  from  the  poop,  the  captain 
cried  out  in  anguish  : 


ligh. 

and  again  the 

he  anchor  will 

ing  like  a  mad 
iniite,  and  the 
Hut  dauntless 
abin  and  along 
bulwarks,  until 
■  perfectly  well 
he  men  pay  out 
ring  too  short. 
Irenched  her  to 
d  almost  smoth- 
her.  Grasping 
up  from  its  bed 
"  that  thrilled 
indlass  revolved 
;.  Putting  forth 
ain  link  by  link 
:nd  until  fathom 
gth  of  the  moor- 
rer  to  the  fatal 

ivas   about,    but 
)op,  the  captain 


A    LITTLE    BAY    HEROINE 


2; 


"  My  God,  Lizzie's  gone  I  Has  she  been  washed 
overboard  ? ' ' 

No  one  could  answer  liini.  and  presently  one  of  the 
sailors,  observing  the  increased  rapidity  of  the  schoon- 
er's drift  shoreward,  exclaimed  : 

"The  anchor's  slipped  !  She's  going  on  the  break- 
ers !" 

Tortured  with  indescribable  anxiety  they  were  watch- 
ing llie  schooner  as  it  seemed  to  hasten  to  destruction 
when,  after  a  never-to-be-forgotten  minute  of  alternat- 
ing hope  and  fear,  Captain  Pilgrim  shouted  : 

"Hurrah!  She  holds,  she  holds!  The  anchor's 
caught  'afj-iin  !" 

And  he  was  right.  Working  with  might  and  main 
lizzie  had  not  paused  until  full  twenty  fathoms  were 
added  to  the  cable's  length,  and  then,  with  a  joy  that 
went  throbbing  through  all  her  pulses,  she  felt  tliat  the 
anchor  had  stopped  scraping  along  the  bottom,  and 
was  taking  a  good,  firm  grip. 

Relieved  by  the  lengthened  mooring  the  schooner  no 
longer  plunged  bows  under,  but  rose  and  fell  easily  with 
the  waves.  Unless  the  anchor  slipjjcd  again,  both 
Lizzie  and  the  schooner  were  safe,  'i'he  moment  she 
was  sure  the  anchor  held,  Lizzie  ran  back  to  her  place 
on  the  poop  and,  standing  upon  tiptoe,  waved  her 
handkerchief  to  the  group  on  shore  in  token  of  her 
safety.  The  signal  was  immediately  seen,  and  a  cheer 
that  even  the  storm  could  not  drown  came  back  to  the 
schooner. 

The  squall  raged  on,  and  at  length  raged  itself  out, 


28 


A    LITTLE    BAY    HEROINE 


dying  down  almost  as  rapidly  as  it  had  sp-  ung  u;^.  The 
white  caps  disappeared,  the  dories,  driven  by  impatient 
rowers,  made  their  way  swiftly  to  the  schooner.  'I'he 
lirst  to  leap  on  board  was  Cajitain  Pilgrim  and,  as  with 
streaming  eyes  he  clasped  his  daughter  to  his  heart,  he 
cried  out  through  ipiivering  lips  : 

"God  bless  you,  my  noble  girl  !  Let  us  kneel  right 
down  and  thank  him  who  hear!  our  prayers." 

yVnd  kneeling  there  with  all  his  men  around  him,  the 
stalwart  captain,  in  words  broken  with  emotion,  gave 
thanks  for  the  wonderful  deliverance. 


•ling  u[>.  The 
:n  by  impatient 
[■•hoonci.  The 
m  and,  as  with 
o  his  heart,  he 

L  us  ivneel  right 
yers." 

round  him,  the 
emotion,  gave 


©aptoin  linriaclc'w 

1^  lec>aTe  oTv, 


I       1  ■»  T 


i 


SUPl'OSK 

hardly   any    one 
among  my   readers  will 
have  the  least  idea  what 
the  letters  B.  15.  M.  I.  C. 
stand  for.      They  are  not 
jlV.'' *  ^:  i^^^i^     the     mystic    symbol    of 

i\Jjf''    [  some   secret  society  with 

'^'^  Most  Worthy    (Irand    Panjan- 

drums, Supreme  High  Cocko- 
lorums,  and  other  imposing  officials,  such 
as  all  boys  delight  in  at  one  time  or  an- 
other, but  they  mean  simply  the  Bluenose 
Boys'  Mutual  Improvement  Club  ;  and  with 
the  kind  permission  of  Will  Morrow,  its  en- 
ergetic president,  I  am  going  to  invite  all 
who  care  to  listen,  to  be  present  at  one  of 
the  meetings  of  this  very  excellent  society. 
Of  course  you  can  accept  the  invitation  in  mind  only, 
''o  it  will  not  matter  if  you  fail  to  find  the  city  of  Che- 
bucto  on  any  map  in  your  geographies.  Perhaps  it 
does  not  go  by  that  name  nowadays.      At  all  events, 

29 


30 


CAITAIN    UINNACLES    LECTURIC 


Chebucto  is  a  great  place  for  boys,  and  the  Mutual 
Improvement  Club  has  among  its  members  a  number 
of  the  briglitest  boys  in  the  city,  who  meet  on  Satur- 
day evi-nings  at  the  home  of  each  in  turn,  and  have 
readings,  tlialogues,  and  debates  among  themselves, 
and  once  a  month  a  short  lecture  from  one  of  the  old 
folks  upon  some  subject  in  which  they  can  all  take  an 
interest. 

Chebucto  is  a  great  place  not  only  for  boys,  but  also 
for  shii)s  and  sailors.  It  boasts  one  of  the  finest  har- 
bors in  the  world,  and  there  are  hundreds  of  vessels 
and  thousands  of  sailors  in  i)ort  almost  all  the  year 
round  ;  which  fully  explains  why  Chebucto  boys  are  so 
fond  of  the  sea.  and  take  such  a  lively  interest  in 
everything  connected  with  the  bronzed  and  brawny 
men  who  do  business  upon  the  great  waters.  When, 
therefore.  Will  Morrow  announced  that  his  father  had 
asked  Captain  Binnacle,  the  commander  of  one  of  Mr. 
Morrow's  steamers,  to  give  the  club  a  short  lecture  on 
some  nautical  subject  at  the  next  monthly  meeting,  the 
boys  were  all  delighted,  and  resolved  to  give  the  cap- 
tain p.  hearty  reception. 

This  is  the  meeting  to  which  I  am  permitted  to  in- 
vite you,  and  so  I  will  now  introduce  Captain  liinnacle 
— a  renowned  master  of  ships — who  has  spent  a  life- 
time on  the  ocean,  and  by  making  good  use  of  his  spare 
time  has  become  one  of  the  best-informed,  as  he  is 
certainly  one  of  the  best-looking,  skippers  in  the  mer- 
chant service. 

The  captain  began  by  saying  that  while  everybody 


ON    SEA    TKRMS    ASHORE 


31 


the  Mutual 
s  a  number 
;t  on  Satur- 
I,  and  have 
tliemsclves, 
L-  of  the  old 
I  all  take  an 

)ys,  but  also 
;  finest  har- 
Is  of  vessels 
all  the  year 
boys  are  so 
interest  in 
and  brawny 
•rs.  When, 
s  fatlier  had 
f  one  of  Mr. 
rt  lecture  on 
meeting,  the 
;ive  the  cap- 

nitted  to  in- 
ain  liinnade 
spent  a  Hfe- 
;  of  his  spare 
led,  as  he  is 
in  the  mer- 

e  everybody 


loved  Jack,  the  sailor,  because  he  was  such  a  frank, 
manly,  generous  kind  of  chap,  not  many  people  knew 
what  a  number  of  words  and  phrases  Jack  liad  in- 
vented and  they  liad  appropriated,  and  were  using 
every  day  of  their  lives.  He  thought  it  was  (piite  time 
lack  was  given  his  due  in  this  maU.'r. 

" 'i'he  first  word  I  will  take  is  'mainstay.'  \ou 
have  all  heard  this  expression,  '  She  is  the  mainstay  of 
the  house,'  or,  '  He  is  the  mainstay  of  the  business,' 
but  ])erhaps  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  the  word 
'  mainstay  '  has  come  ashore,  meaning  when  afloat  tlie 
great  steel  or  hempen  hawser  which  slants  forward  from 
the  maimiiast  of  the  ship  down  to  the  deck,  and  keeps 
the  mast  stiff  and  steady,  no  matter  how  hard  the  wind 
may  blow. 

"  Some  day  or  other,  not  for  a  good  many  years  per- 
haps, you  will  take  a  deep  interest  in  another  word 
lack  has  been  good  enough  to  invent  for  you,  and  that 
is  'spliced.'  When  two  people  are  brave  enough  to 
get  married,  their  friends  may  say  they  are  'spliced,' 
and  you  have  only  to  watch  a  sailor  making  what  he 
calls  a  splice  to  understand  how  appropriate  the  word 
is  to  matrimony. 

"When  you  grow  up  to  be  men,  and  go  into  busi- 
ness on  your  own  account,  I  trust  you  will  never  have 
reason  to  know  what  it  is  to  be  '  thrown  on  your  beam- 
ends.'  For  a  ship  to  be  on  her  beam-ends  is  to  be  in 
a  very  ugly  and  dangerous  position  indeed.  It  can 
only  happen  in  some  dreadful  storm,  and  it  means  that 
instead  of  riding  over  the  waves  on  an  even  keel,  the 


32 


CAPTAIN    niNNACLF.'S    LKCTL'RF. 


unliuky  vessel  is  lyinj;  over  i.n  lier  side  until  her  yards 
dip  in  tlie  water,  and   lier  det  k  slopes  worse  than  the 
roof  of  a  house.     She  cannot    stay    in    that    position 
k.nn.      The   masts  must  be    <  ut  away  and    the   vessel 
righted,  or  down  she  \..il  go  with  all  on  board.     That 
is  just  the  situation  business  men  sometimes  fmd  them- 
selves in  when  a  finandal  hurricane  heaves  them  tlown 
until  they  are  almost   ready  to  sink  into  the  depths  ot 
insolven.y.      Another   unpleasant  experience    is   bemg 
•  hard-up.'      Probably  you  have  all  had  a  taste  of  that. 
For  a  ship's  helm  to  be  put  '  hard-up.'  that  is,  as  far  as 
it  will  possibly  go  to  port  or  starboar<l.  means  that  there 
i,.  some  danger  in  the  road,  a  heavy  s.pudl  commg  on. 
or  breakers  ahead,  or  the  sudden  appearam.   of  an- 
other vessel  right  across  her  tra.  k.     The  word  does  not 
bear  precisely  the  same  meaning  on  shore  nowadays, 
but  as  being  '  hard-up  '  imi.lies  being  in  diffu  ulties.  so 
far  as  both   men  i>nd   ships  are  concerned,  '  you    can 
easily  see  the  force  of  the  phrase. 

«' All  the  ladies  like  sailors,  because  they  know  right 
well  that  no  man  has  a  more  lively  admiration  for  them 
than   lack  ;  but  there  are  very  few  of  them,  I'll  wager, 
have  the  least  idea  that  when  they  say,  '  I  was  really 
quite  taken  aback,  my  dear,'  they  are  in  debt  to  Jack 
for  those   very  expressive  words      A    ship    is    '  taken 
aba(-k '  by  a  sudden  change  in  the  wind  which,  instead 
of  bellying  out  the  canvas  and  bowling  her  merrily  along, 
chops  round  and  bangs  the  sails  up  against  the  mast  so 
that   the  vessel  comes  to  a  standstill.     And  the  very 
same  thing  often  happens  among  people.     Things  are 


la 


I 


\L. 


ON   SKA   TERMS    ASHORE 


33 


il  her  yards 
sc  tlian  tlif 
lat    position 

tiic  vessel 
i>ard.  That 
s  find  theiii- 

theni  down 
he  deptiis  of 
ice    is   being 
taste  of  that. 
It  is,  as  l;ir  as 
ills  that  there 
I  coining  on, 
rancv.   of  an- 
ord  does  not 
re  nowadays, 
Jiffunlties.  so 
ed, ' you   can 

L'y  know  right 
ition  for  them 
m,  I'll  wager, 

'  I  was  really 

debt  to  Jack 
lip  is  '  taken 
which,  instead 

merrily  along, 
ist  the  mast  so 

And  the  very 
:.     Things  are 


going  along  smoothly  when,  |)iil'f — a  rude  remark,  a 
sudden  show  of  temper,  and  somebody  is  sure  to  be 
'taken  abai  k,'  miicii  to  iiis  discomfort. 

"  Tiiere  are  two  faxorite  expressions  of  Jaik  wlii(  ii 
every  boy  who  has  any  respe(  t  fi^r  liimself  must  take 
care  never  to  have  truthfully  aiii)lied  to  him,  namely, 
that  he  is  given  to  being  'slewed,'  and  to  'spinning 
twisters.'  To  slew  means  to  turn,  and  thercrfore  to  say 
that  a  man  is  'slewed,'  signifies  that  lie  is  turned  the 
wrong  way  by  drink,  a  state  into  wlii(  h  |)oor  Jack  is 
only  too  apt  to  get  himself  when  he  is  ashore  with 
plenty  of  pay  in  his  pocket.  '  He  is  a  great  hand  at 
s|)inning  a  twister,'  is  a  remark  often  made  about 
jieople  who  are  fond  of  telling  long  stories  whii  li,  while 
not  altogether  lies,  are  so  full  of  exaggerations  as  to 
leave  very  sianty  storage  room  for  the  truth,  and  the 
origin  of  the  phrase  is  this  :  I'.very  ship  has  on  board  a 
little  machine  known  as  the  'spun-yarn  winch,'  with 
which  the  sailors  make  a  small  kind  of  rope  (afled 
'siHin-yarn,'  which  is  useful  in  a  hundred  different 
ways.  This  winch  twists  up  the  yarns  together,  and 
they  are  then  stretched  along  at  great  length,  from  the 
fo'cs'le  to  the  poop  perhaps;  so  that  'spinning  a 
twister'  and  'spinning  a  long  yarn'  have  had  the  same 
birthplace. 

"Then  the  lawyers  and  the  politicians — some  of  you 
lads  are  sure  to  be  both  later  on — are  in  special  debt  to 
Jack  also.  They  often  speak  about  there  being  '  a  hitch 
in  the  arrangement,'  when  some  difficulty  occurs  in  a 
matter  they  have  in  hand  ;  and  it  is  a  very  good  way 

c 


I' 


34 


CAFIAIN    IllNNACr.K'S    I.F.CTL'RF, 


of  piitliiiK  il.  lor  a  liiuh  is  a  knot   c.r  turn   in    a  rope 
\vlu<  li  prevents  it  from  traveling!  or  nimiint;  out  freely, 
lack  has  several  kinds  of  tiiesc  hitihcs,  such  as  '  liall- 
liitih.'  'clove-iiitch.'    '  tiinl)er-hit(:li.'  and  so  on.  eat  li 
iiavin^;    its    own    special    use.      .\fter    the    provoking 
•hit.ir  in  the  arrangement  has  been  successfully  got- 
ten over,   it   is  perhaps  all  'plain   sailing.'  which   is  a 
landsman's  notion  of  bowling  along  without  any  trouble, 
with  a  clear  lourse,  a  fair  wind,  and  nothing  to  do  but 
mind  the  helm.     There  is  another  kind  of  sailing,  how- 
ever, which   is  ni)t  so  satisfactory,  and  that  is  -sailing 
under  false   colors.'      If   honest   Jack  were   invited  to 
give  these  same  lawyers  and  politit  ians  a  bit  of  advice, 
he  would  perhaps  say  something  in  this  wise  :   '  Avast, 
ho  !  my  hearties,  keep  a  sharj)  lookout  aheatl  ;  be  al- 
ways "above   board."  don't  try  to   "sail  under  false 
(olors."  and  don't  be   always   thinking  how   yon  can 
"overreach  your  mates.  '  for  ten  to  one  you  will  end  up 
by  "falling  foul"  of  them,  and  maybe  "foundering" 

yonrself ' 

"Now  here,  boys,  is  a  lot  of  terms  invented  by 
Jack  that  have  -stablished  themselves  on  shore.  'I'o  be 
'above  board'  ncans  to  be  out  on  the  open  deck 
where  everybody  can  see  you.  and  not  hidden  away  in 
the  cabin  or  forecastle.  To  'sail  under  false  colors.' 
is  to  hoist  at  the  masthead  the  flag  of  another  nation 
than  that  to  which  the  vessel  really  belongs.  It  is 
often  done  in  times  of  war.  If  there  was  war  between 
Mngland  and  France,  for  instance,  and  a  Krencli  vessel 
on  meeting  an  English  cruiser  were  to  hoist  the  Stars 


irn   ill    :i  rope 
\\)^  out  freely, 
sucli  as  '  lialf- 
il  so  on.  ea<  li 
llie    provoking 
iccessfully  got- 
g.'  wliich   is  a 
lit  any  troiiMe, 
hiiig  to  ilo  but 
jf  sailing,  how- 
that  is  ■  sailing 
ere   inviteil  li> 
I  hit  of  adviie, 
wise  :    '  Avast, 
ahead  ;  he  al- 
;ail  under  false 
;  how   yon  can 
yon  will  end  np 
"foundering" 

is  invented  hy 
1  shore.  To  he 
the  oi)en  deck 
hidden  away  in 
.■r  false  colors,' 
another  nation 
belongs.  It  is 
las  war  between 
a  I'Vench  vessel 
)  hoist  the  Stars 


ON    SEA    TKRMS    .\MIORE 


li 


and  Stripes,  tluit  would  be  a  case  of  sailing  under  false 
<:olors.  liy  '  overri'ac  !)ing  '  is  meant  a  vessel  holding 
on  too  long  on  one  ta<  k.  Ship^  "fall  foul'  of  one  an- 
other wiieii  a  gale  causes  them  to  drag  their  am  hor.-i 
and  come  into  ( ollision,  and  no  one  who  has  ever  been 
on  iioard  a  ship  at  sue  h  a  lime,  and  heard  the  grinding 
of  tiie  huge  hulls  as  the  wavi-s  bumj)ed  them  together, 
the  crashing  of  the  sjjars  aloft,  the  shiuiting  of  the  caj)- 
tains,  and  swearing  of  tlie  men,  will  ever  forget  what  it 
is  to  '  fall  foul.'  Hut  '  foundering  '  is  still  worse,  for  that 
only  happens  when  a  gallant  vessel,  after  being  beaten 
about  by  a  terrible  storm,  opens  her  seams  until,  be- 
coming- full  of  water,  she  goes  right  down  in  mid- 
ocean,  taking  all  on  board  with  her  to  '  IMvy  Jones' 
locker. ' 

"Of  course,  my  lads,  these  I  have  giv>_n  are  not  by 
any  means  all  the  words  and  exjjressions  which  lands- 
men owe  to  Jack,  but  I  won't  bother  you  with  many 
more,  or  you  will  think  1  am  spinning  altogether  too 
long  ;•  yarn  myself,  and  be  longing  for  me  to  come  to 
an  anchor.  I  have  already  told  you  how  the  ladies, 
the  lawyers,  and  politicians,  have  borrowed  e.xpressions 
from  Jaik's  fruitful  vocabulary,  and  it  is  now  the  turn 
of  the  merchants.  Suppose,  Mr.  President,  you  should 
ask  your  father  how  business  was,  and  he  should  reply 
that  although  there  had  been  a  great  falling  off  some 
time  ago,  it  was  beginning  to  look  uj)  ami  getting  into 
the  right  course  again,  he  would  use  at  least  three  well- 
known  sea  terms  in  that  short  sentence.  A  ship  '  falls 
off  when  the  wind  draws  ahead  and  gets  in  her  way, 


36 


CAPTAIN    binnacle's    LECTURE 


as  it  were,  ami  is  said  to  be  'looking  up'  wb-^n,  after 
pointing  off  her  course;  she  gradually  steals  round  to  it 
again  through  the  veering  of  the  wind,  thus  'getting 
into  the  rigiit  course,'  that  is,  the  straightest  line  for 
the  port  to  which  she  is  bound. 

"One  of  Jack's  words  in  constant  use  of  late  years 
is  'crank.'  A  crank  ship  is  one  that  has  too  little  bal- 
last on  board,  and  is  conseiiuently  in  danger  of  going 
over  on  her  beam-ends  at  the  first  S(piall,  and  as  half- 
witted peoi)le  are  always  ill-balanced,  you  can  see  at 
once  how  e.xpressive  the  term  '  crank '  is. 

"One  more  word,  boys,  and  I  will  come  to  anchor. 
'I'hat  word  is  'brace  up.'  and  it  contains  a  very  good 
bit  of  ad\  ice  too.  When  we  feel  lazy,  discouraged, 
discontented,  or  miserable  about  anything.  '  in  the 
doldrums,'  as  Jack  would  say,  we  must  brace  up,  as 
ships  at  sea  brace  up  their  yards  that  they  may  make 
the  most  of  the  wind. 

"  Hy  the  way  of  a  wind-up,  I  will  give  you  a  half- 
dozen  sea  terms,  the  meanings  of  whi(  h  it  will  be 
amusement  for  you  to  find  out  for  yourselves,  namely  : 
'Making  headway,'  'making  leeway,'  'holding  her 
own,'  'shot  in  tlie  locker,'  'see  how  the  land  lies,' 
'  the  coast  is  clear,  '  look  out  for  snualls,'  '  coming  to,' 
and  'beating  about.'  'I'hat  will  be  enough,  I  think. 
.\nd  now,  lads,  thankin',  you  heartily  for  not  getting 
tired  of  an  old  sailor's  talk,  and  wishing  you  all  a  pros- 
perous voyage  on  life's  ocean,  I  will  'avast  heaving' 
and  have  done." 


RE 

p'  when,  after 

lals  round  to  it 

thus   'getting 

ghtcst  line  for 

e  of  late  years 
s  too  little  bal- 
anger  of  going 
11,  and  as  half- 
iOu  can  see  at 

[jnie  to  anchor, 
ns  a  very  good 
r,  discouraged, 
:hing.  '  in  the 
it  brace  up,  as 
they  may  make 

ive  you  a  half- 
lich  it  will  be 
selves,  namely  : 
'  holding  her 
the  land  lies,' 
,'  '  coming  to,' 
lougb,  I  think, 
for  not  getting 
r  you  all  a  pros- 
avast  heaving ' 


eK^&>fei^^^ 


HKN    T'»d  Robson 
ran    away  to   sea, 
his   ])arents  sought 
to  comfort  their  sad- 
dened hearts  with  the 
conviction  that  it  would 
not    be    long    before    he 
would  return,  a  wiser  lad   than 
he  had  gone.      For  one   thing,  he  did 
not  know  how  to  swim,  and  as  the  good  deacon 
shrewdly  said: 

"A  sailor  that  can't  swim  surely  ain't  worth  his  salt 
on  board  a  ship,  and  they'll  soon  be  finding  our  Ted 
out,  and  pack  him  home  again." 

Ted  had  always  been  of  a  restless,  wayward  disposi- 
tion. He  was  not  attracted  by  the  idea  of  following 
in  the  footsteps  of  his  worthy  father,  only  son  though  he 
was. 

The  fancied  restraints  of  religion  seemed  to  him 
more  than  he  could  endure.  He  wanted  to  have  his 
fling  first,  at  all  events,  to  sow  his  crop  of  wild  oats  ; 
and  although  his  parents  were  neither  over-indulgent 

37 


38 


HEAIl    DOWNWARD 


nor  unduly  strict,  even  his  comfortal)le  liome  gr>,w  irk- 
some as  he  allowed  himself  to  cherish  the  notion  of 
seeing  something  of  the  world. 

The  end  of  the  matter  was  that,  failing  to  obtain  his 
father's  consent,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  go  off  with- 
out it,  and  one  dark  nighi  in  June  he  disajipeared,  to 
gether  with  such  of  his  belongings  as  could  be  made 
up  into  a  handy  bundle. 

.\s  soon  as  lY-d's  absence  was  discovered.  Deacon 
Robson  set  off  in  pursuit,  but  unluckily  went  to  the 
wrong  seaport,  there  being  two  at  about  eciual  distanc;; 
from  Ebondale,  and  before  he  could  corre  t  '.is  error, 
his  undutiful  son  liad  stowed  away  on  the  big  bark 
"  Krl  King,"  bound  for  South  America  with  a  big  cargo 
of  lumber,  and  was  beyond  the  southern  horizon. 

Ted  had  not  been  a  week  on  shipboard  before  he 
began  to  re])ent  of  his  conduct.  In  the  first  place,  he 
was  desperately  seasick  ;  in  the  second,  he  was  by  the 
command  of  the  captain,  who  had  small  sym])athy  with 
stowaways,  set  to  the  hardest  and  most  distasteful  tasks  ; 
and  in  the  third  place,  the  ocean  was  so  much  vaster 
than  he  had  ever  imagined,  and  even  the  big  bark 
seemed  such  a  speck  upon  its  bosom,  that  the  very  idea 
of  a  big  storm  filled  him  with  apprehension. 

"  I  just  wish  1  was  home  again,"  said  he  to  himself 
more  than  once.  "  If  I'd  only  known  what  jioor  fun 
there  is  in  being  a  sailor,  I'm  mighty  sure  I'd  never 
have  been  fool  enough  to  stow  mvself  away." 

Despite  these  dran backs  at  the  start,  however,  as 
the  voyige  progressed  he  grew  more  accustomed  to  his 


HEAD    DOWNWARD 


39 


ne  gT^w  irk- 
e   notion  of 

0  obtain  his 
,'o  off  with- 
[ipeared,  to 
Id  be  made 

ed,  Deacon 
.vent  to  the 
ual  distant;: 
■t  '-.is  error, 
le   big    bark 

1  a  big  cargo 
orizon. 

d  before  he 
"St  place,  he 
was  by  the 
npathy  with 
steful  tasks  ; 
much  vaster 
le  big  bark 
he  very  idea 

,'  to  himself 
lat  |)Oor  fun 
e  I'd  never 

however,  as 
omed  to  his 


new  life,  and  as  he  l)ehav(„d  himself  well  and  showed 
intelligence,  l.e  was  after  a  while  given  the  place  o*" 
cabin-boy,  in  which  he  had  lighter  work  and  better 
trealmeut. 

'Ihe  "  I'lrl  King's"  course  was  down  the  eastern  coast 
of  South  America,  around  dangerous  Cape  Horn,  and  up 
tile  west  coast  as  (;ir  as  ('o(piinibo,  stopi)ing  from  time 
to  time  at  different  ports  on  the  way.  led  made  the 
most  of  his  (ipi)ortunities  to  learn  to  row  and  steer  a 
boat  and  other  useful  accomplishments  ;  but  he  knew 
no  more  about  swinnning  when  they  reached  the  Chil- 
ian coast  tlian  he  did  when  they  started. 

The  bark  had  to  delay  her  return  to  get  on  board  a 
cargo  of  copper  ore.  and  there  being  nothing  else  to 
do,  the  energies  of  the  crew  were  directed  to  making 
rejjairs  in  the  rigging  and  hull,  rendered  necessary  by 
the  long  voyage. 

( )ne  morning  Ted  was  seiit  ashore  as  steersman  of  a 
boat  to  bring  off  some  sui)i)lies.  'I'he  day  was  perfect; 
the  surface  of  the  bay  had  hardly  a  ripple  ;  and  Ted 
felt  in  higli  spirits  as  the  boat  shot  through  the  water. 
Ciood  time  was  made  to  the  landing,  the  stores  were 
procured  and  stowed  in  the  stern  sheets,  a  little  while 
was  allowed  for  looking  around,  and  then  the  heavily 
laden  boat  i)lowed  her  way  back  to  the  bark, 

■'  Kight  bells"  struck  just  as  the  boat  got  alongside, 
and  the  oarsmen  being  in  a  hurry  for  their  dinner, 
clambered  out  of  her,  leaving  'led  to  make  fast  and 
follow  after.  He  had  l)een  steering  with  an  oar.  and 
feeling  a  little  incensed  at  the  others  hurrying  off,  he 


i 


40 


HEAD    DOWNWARD 


gave  an  impatient  stroke  to  bring  the  boat's  sterr  in  to 
the  ship.  He  was  standin--,  in  the  boat  when  he  did 
this,  and  the  notch  for  the  oar  being  too  shallow,  the 
heavy  ash  blade  slipped  out  of  it. 

Taken  completely  unawares,  Ted  lost  his  balance, 
and  shot  overboard  head  first,  his  impetus  carrying 
him  far  down  into  the  translucent  depths. 

His  first  'eeling  as  the  water  closed  over  him  was  one 
of  wild  terror.  He  knew  he  coui  not  swim  a  stroke, 
and  he  rightly  surmised  that  no  one  had  seen  him  dis- 
app-iar,  the  whole  crew  being  busy  at  dinner.  Opening 
his  mouth  to  shout  for  help,  a  suffocating  rush  of  salt 
water  made  him  nistantly  close  it  again.  He  was  near 
losing  consciousness  from  sheer  fright  at  his  appalling 
situation. 

There  came  to  him  like  an  inspiration  the  directions 
that  he  had  once  read  as  to  what  should  be  done  in 
such  an  emergency.  He  remembered  that  he  must  not 
be  flurried,  and  that  he  must  k<  ep  his  arms  down,  and 
paddle  as  much  like  a  dog  as  possible. 

So  he  set  to  work  paddling,  at  first  gently,  but  with 
growing  vigor  as  the  agony  of  suffocation  increased, 
until  he  had  reached  the  utmost  limit  of  his  strength. 
Oh,  if  he  could  only  get  his  mouth  above  water  just  for 
a  moment  !     How  terrible  it  was  to  be  without  breath. 

Yet,  strange  to  say.  his  efforts  brought  him  no  nearer 
the  surface.  Then  there  flashed  into  his  mind  the 
thought  of  the  oar,  which  had  been  the  cause  of  his 
fall  into  the  water,  and  he  groped  around  eagerly  in  the 
hope   of   grasping   it  with   his   hands.      But   his   out- 


si 
1) 

g 


n 
d 
o 

it 

P 
a 
h 
e 

d 
h 
h 
li 

h 
o 
f( 
h 
li 

P 
u 

S( 

li 


HEAD    DOWNWARD 


41 


t's  sterr  in  to 
t  when  he  did 
0  shallow,  the 

t  his  balance, 
)ctus   carrying 

r  him  was  one 
kvim  a  stroke, 
seen  him  dis- 
ner.  Opening 
ig  rush  of  salt 
He  was  near 
his  appalling 

the  directions 
d  be  done  in 
it  he  must  not 
ins  down,  and 

ntly,  but  with 
on   increased, 

his  strength. 

water  just  for 
ithout  breath, 
lim  no  nearer 
lis  mind  the 
:  cause  of  his 
eagerly  in  the 
But   his   out- 


stretched fingers  touched  nothing  save  the  surrounding 
brine,  and  despairing  of  helping  himself  in  any  way,  he 
gave  up  further  effort  and  was  perfectly  still. 

"  Perhaps  i  will  rise  to  the  surface  now,"  he  thought. 
"They  say  that's  what  happens  if  you  only  keep  still." 

No  !  Instead  of  ascendi  ig  he  seemed  to  be  getting 
more  deeply  submerged,  hi^  mind  now  became  won- 
derfully active.  His  past  life  unrolled  itself  like  a  pan- 
orama before  his  mental  vision,  and  there  mingled  with 
it  anxious  thoughts  of  his  future.  He  felt  the  most 
poignant  regret  for  his  conduct  toward  his  parents,  and 
an  awful  horror  of  death  possessed  him.  No  grountl 
had  he  to-  hope  for  Divine  mercy.  No  other  fate  than 
eternal  condemnation  could  await  such  a  sinner  as  he. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  be  spared  this  time,  what  a 
different  boy  I  would  be  !  "  was  the  unuttered  cry  of 
his  heart,  and  with  such  mental  strength  as  remained  to 
him,  he  vowed  to  serve  (lod  faithfully  the  rest  of  his 
life  if  he  should  be  rescued. 

Suddenly  there  came  an  excruciating  pain  in  his 
head,  as  though  it  would  burst,  that  drove  him  to  make 
one  more  desperate  effort  to  free  his  face  from  the  suf- 
focating water.  But  the  effort  was  in  vain,  and  after  his 
last  atom  of  strength  had  spent  itself,  a  feeling  of  de- 
licious ease  stole  sweetly  over  his  senses,  soothing  all 
physical  and  mental  agony,  and  he  sank  into  complete 
unconsciousness. 

Presently  he  became  conscious  of  a  curious  humming 
sound,  and  of  a  distant  murmur  of  voices.  He  be- 
lieved he  was  in  another  world,  and  made  a  desperate 


L 


4* 


HEAD    DOWNWARD 


I 


1 
I 


attempt  to  open  h'«  eyes.  lOverytliing,  however,  was 
in  a  state  of  whirl  and  blur  that  was  painful,  so  he 
thought  he  would  wait  until  he  grew  stronger.  The 
next  moment  a  familiar  voice  broke  in  upon  his  stupor, 
and  aroused  him  to  make  another  attempt.  The  voice 
said  : 

"Clivc  him  a  little  more  of  that  drink  ;  he's  coming- 
to  all  right." 

The  speaker  was  the  captain  of  the  "  Krl  King,"  and 
instead  of  being  in  another  world,  led  was  no  farther 
than  the  vessel's  cabin  where,  surrounded  by  an  anx- 
ious grouj)  of  his  shii)mates,  he  was  being  slowly  brought 
back  to  life. 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  so  great  that  he  burst 
into  tears,  at  which  the  captain  said  : 

"That's  right  ;  that  will  do  you  good.  You'll  soon 
be  quite  yourself  again.  Hut  I  tell  you,  my  lad,  you 
had  a  narrow  squeak  for  it." 

Ted's  escape,  certainly,  had  been  nothing  short  of 
providential.  It  seemed  that  one  of  the  men.  feeling 
some  com])unction  at  liaving  left  him  in  the  lurch,  re- 
turned to  help  him  make  fast  the  boat.  Surjjrised  at 
not  seeing  him.  he  sprang  into  the  boat,  and  guessing 
what  had  happened,  peered  down  into  the  water  which, 
fortunately,  was  as  clear  as  crystal.  His  cjuick  eyes  at 
once  caught  sight  of  poor  Ted.  head  downward,  at  such 
a  depth  that  he  had  to  haul  hm  up  with  a  boathook. 

From  that  day  Ted  was  a  changed  boy.  He  felt  so 
convinced  that  (lod's  reason  for  sparing  his  life  was 
that  he  might  give  him  his  heart  and  serve  him  for  the 


ten 

ing 

littl 

the 

opt 

he 

did 

he.n 

froi 

I 
his 
was 
sile 
diri 
whi 
ran 
trac 
enc 
wit 
wai 
dor 
pra 
the 
soh 
he 

I 
has 
his 
aga 

I 


iiE.\n  nowNWARn 


43 


however,  was 
iiinful,  so  he 
'onger.  The 
jii  his  stui)or, 
The  voice 

he's  romiiig- 

1  Ring,"  and 
as  no  farther 
I  by  an  anx- 
lowly  brought 

that  he  burst 

You'll  soon 
my  lad,  you 

fling  short  of 

men.  feeling 
he  lurch,  rc- 

Suri)rised  at 
and  guessing 

water  which, 
juick  eyes  at 
ward,  at  such 

boathook. 

He  felt  so 
;  his  life  was 

him  for  the 


remainder  of  his  days,  that  he  at  once  set  about  obtain- 
ing f(jrgiveuess.  From  the  bottom  of  his  bag  came  the 
litde  liible,  his  mother's  gift,  which  he  had  stowed  in 
there  with  his  other  belongings,  although  he  had  not 
opened  it  during  the  voyage.  He  read  and  prayed  until 
he  became  known  on  board  as  "  jjious  'J'td."  Hut  he 
did  not  mind  being  laughed  at,  for  peace  came  into  his 
heart,  and  he  was  strong  in  the  strength  that  cometh 
from  above. 

Moreover,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
his  influence  was  not  lost.  IVlore  than  one  of  the  men 
was  led  to  think  of  the  wild  life  he  was  living  by  his 
silent  exam])le.  In  one  case  he  was  permitted  to  see 
direct  results.  At  one  of  the  South  .American  ports  at 
which  the  "  Hrl  King"  wascomi)elled  to  call,  Tom  Coch- 
rane, the  wild,  rough  s.-'i'or  who  had  rescued  'led,  con- 
tracted a  severe  illnes ;  whu  h,  for  a  time,  threatened  to 
end  his  life.  The  gratitude  in  Ted's  heart,  together 
with  the  new  spirit  that  had  come  to  him,  led  him  to 
wait  on  Tom  as  faithfully  as  any  lorother  could  have 
done.  More  than  once  too,  he  heard  the  devoted  boy 
praying  to  (lod  for  his  recovery.  'I'his,  together  with 
the  boy's  tender  ministry,  caused  him  to  make  a  re- 
solve to  do  better  ;  and  hih  young  nurse  believed  that 
he  would. 

In  due  time  the  voyage  came  to  an  end,  and  Ted 
hastened  home,  praying  that  no  ill  might  have  befallen 
his  ])arents  during  his  absence,  and  vowing  that  never 
again  would  he  leave  them  without  their  full  approval. 

He    reached    the   old   h  -me  just  as  his  father  and 


44 


IIKAD    noWNWARIl 


mother  wore  sitting'  down  to  their  evening  m«al,  and 
bursting  into  the  room,  he  threw  liimself  at  his  father's 
feet,  crying  : 

"Forgive  me,  father;  I've  come  home,  and  I'll 
never  run  away  again." 

(Ireat  was  the  gladness  of  the  father  and  mother  at 
their  son's  safe  return,  and  greater  still  their  joy  when 
they  learned  of  his  ( iiange  of  heart,  for  the  sake  of 
which  they  freely  forgave  him  everything. 


ng  meal,  and 
at  bis  father's 

)me,    and    I'll 

nd  mother  at 
tlicir  joy  when 
r  the  sake  of 


^^3^^e 


'S^' 


HARl.IK  !     Wh.>>  aoes  that 
mean?"    crieil    Stan    ("lark- 
son,  throwing  down   his  i)i(:k, 
seizing  his  t<jr(ii,  and  darting 
off  into  the  darkness. 
Charlie  l'"ranklyn  |)aiisc(l  in 
his    \igorous    shoveling    and 
looked     anxiously    after     Stan, 
while  the  boys  on  either  side  of  him,  overhearing  the 
latter's  exclamation,  stopped  work  also,  and  ga/ed  in- 
((uiringly  into  his  face. 

"What  is  it,  Charlie?"  asked  Con  'I'npiier. 
"  What's  become  of  Stan  ?  " 

"  He's  gone  to  the  month  of  the  cave,  I  gness,  but 
I  don't  know  what  for,"  answered  Charlie. 

'I'he  next  moment  Stan  came  rushing  Ijack,  his  face 
])allid  with  fright,  his  eyes  nearly  starting  from  their 
sockets,  and  his  hand  trembling  so  that  the  torch  al- 
most fell  from  his  grasp. 

"  Oh,  boys  !  "  he  gasped  as  he  sprang  into  the  circle 
of  light  cast  by  half  a  dozen  torches  and  lanterns. 
"The  tide's  in,  and  we're  caught  in  the  cave  !  " 

45 


«,1|<I1  JUL  I    .1     I 


.jM^'li  -t'liM' 


46 


CAUOUT    IN    SMUOr.I.F.R  S    CAVR 


At  the  utterance  of  these  words  a  chorus  of  excla- 
mations of  alarm  arose  from  the  boys,  and  dropping 
their  tools  they  gathered  about  Stan  Clarkson,  pepper- 
ing him  with  excited  (juestions  to  which  his  only  replv 
was  : 

"  (^nit :k  '  take  the  lights  and  hurry  for  your  lives." 
Snatching  up  the  iiglils,  but  leaving  their  picks  and 
shovels,  the  whole  party  scurried  toward  the  mouth  of 
the  cave 

Almost  before  they  knew  it  their  feet  were  s-plashing 
in  the  water,  and  their  hearts  stood  still  with  fright  as 
the  peril  of  their  position  broke  upon  them.  The 
smaller  boys  shrank  back  in  terror  and  some  of  them 
began  to  whimper  ;  but  l''rank  Alherton,  the  oldest  and 
biggest  of  the  party,  handing  his  torch  to  Con  Tupjjer, 
spoke  out  bravely  : 

"Don't  begin  to  blubber  yet.  (live  me  plenty  of 
.ight,  and  I'll  see  if  we  can't  get  through."  . 

Then  throwing  off  his  coat  and  boots  he  dashed  into 
the  water.  Hefore  him  the  darkness  was  intense,  and  at 
each  step  the  water  deei)ened  until  at  last  he  had  to 
swim.  Yet  fearlessly  he  ])ressed  forward,  hoping  at 
every  stroke  to  see  beyond  him  the  patch  of  light  that 
would  mean  escape.  Suddenly  his  head  struck  some- 
thing hard.  He  put  up  his  hand.  It  was  the  roof 
of  the  cave  !  The  moutli  then  was  already  full,  and  all 
chance  of  escape  cut  off  There  was  no  alternative  but 
to  turn  back  and  await  the  worst  He  and  his  com- 
panions were  as  helpless  as  rats  in  a  trap. 

There   was  not  a  braver  boy  in  the  country  than 


loriis  of  cxcla- 

and  uropiiiiig 

rksun,  pcppcr- 

his  only  rcpiv 

ir  your  lives." 

leir   picks  and 

the  mouth  of 

were  s-plashing 
with  fright  as 
I  them.  The 
some  of  them 
the  oldest  and 
J  Con  'rtip])er, 

me  plenty  of 
1."  . 

he  dashed  into 
intense,  and  at 
last  he  had  to 
ird,  hoping  at 
:h  of  light  that 
d  struck  some- 
:  was  the  roof 
dy  full,  and  all 
alternative  but 
;  and  his  com- 

;  country  than 


CAUGHT    IN    SMtT.r.LEK.S    CAVK 


47 


Frank  .\therton.  lUil  who  could  hlame  him  for  feeling 
lim|>  and  nerveless  as  he  made  liis  way  hai  k  to  the  little 
group  treiuiiiingly  awaiting  his  return. 

They  knew  his  answer  before  he  spoke,  and  as  he 
despondently  dragged  himself  out  of  llu'  water,  the 
l)0()r  little  fellows  who  had  been  trying  hard  to  <  ontrol 
their  sobs,  broki'  out  alresii. 

"Come  now,  boys;  stoj)  that!"  said  i'lank  in  a 
commanding  but  not  unkindly  tone.  "Crying  won't 
help  matters.  Tliere's  nothing  for  us  but  to  wait  here 
until  the  tide  goes  out  again.  Let  us  go  back  to  the 
end  of  the  cave." 

'I'hereiipon  tliey  all  made  their  way  to  the  farthest 
recess  of  tlie  long  tunnel,  dug  out  by  the  persistent 
waves,  and,  putting  down  their  lights,  gathered  close 
about  I'Vank  for  comfort  and  direction. 

'i'heir  situation  was  one  of  sufficient  danger  to  ajjpall 
the  stoutest  heart.  The  party  consisted  of  a  dozen 
boys,  ranging  ir.  age  from  ten  to  fourteen  years,  all  of 
them  pupils  at  Chebucto  .\cademy.  .Among  the  many 
legends  of  the  sea  current  in  Chebucto,  was  one  to 
the  effe(-t  that  a  certain  cave,  which  penetrated  deep 
into  the  side  of  Sambo  Head  and  bore  the  name  of 
Smuggler's  Cave,  although  no  smuggler  had  been 
known  to  make  use  of  it  for  generations  past,  was  one 
of  the  hiding  i)laces  where  Captain  Kidd  had  bestowed 
a  portion  of  his  ill-gotten  gain.  This  legend  every  boy 
at  the  academy  devoutly  believed,  and  i  vas  a  frecjuent 
subject  of  discussion  among  them,  although  no  attempt 
had  ever  been  made  on  their  part  to  test  its  accuracy 


r 


48 


CAUGHT    IN    SML-GGI.UKS   CAVE 


until  I'raiik  Alhirton,  one  of  those  boys  who  always 
take  till'  li';i<l  amoii^,'  tlicir  IVIIdus,  a  handsome,  atlilelic, 
daring  lail  iKit  i|iiite  lilteeii  years  of  age.  having  heard 
the  story  until  he  believed  every  word  of  it,  hetamo 
possessed  with  the  iletenninatioii  lo  see  if  there  was 
anything  in  it. 

.\n  enterprise  that  i'Vank  .\thert()n  headed  was  sure 
of  plenty  of  volunteers,  and  he  had  no  diffit  ulty  in 
organizing  an  exploring  jtarty  (piile  as  large  as  he  de- 
sired. Choojiing  a  Saturda)  when  the  tide  wcjiild  he  at 
its  elil)  about  noon,  these  youthful  searchers  after 
buried  treasure  provitled  themselves  with  ))i(ks,  shovels, 
crowbars,  lanterns,  and  tort  hes,  and  set  off  in  two  boats 
for  the  SI  eiie  of  their  operati(ni. 

I'he  ilay  proved  as  favorable  as  rould  be  desired,  the 
harbor  had  hardly  a  ripple  u])()n  its  surface,  the  sun 
shone  from  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the  air  was  warm  with- 
out being  oppressive.  in  high  spirits  the  part;-  rowed 
away  to  Smuggler's  C.'a\e. 

When  they  landed  the  tide  was  just  running  out, 
and  they  had  but  a  little  while  to  wait  before  the  en- 
trance to  the  ( ave  was  clear.  Fastening  their  boats  se- 
curely at  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  they  lit  their  torches, 
shouldered  their  tools,  and  marched  out  of  the  glare 
and  warmth  of  the  sunlight  into  the  shadow  and  chill 
of  the  drip])ing  rave. 

Far  into  its  depths  they  made  their  way,  singing  and 
shouting  noisily  to  show  how  bold  they  felt,  until  they 
reached  the  extreme  end,  where  they  put  down  their 
tools  and  awaited  their  leader's  instructions.      Now  a 


ya  who  always 
some,  atlilelic, 
.  having  heard 
of  it,  became 
e   if  there  was 

■adcd  was  sure 
lo  difficulty  in 
irge  as  he  de- 
ilc  would  he  at 
learihers  after 
picks,  shovels, 
jff  in  two  boats 

be  desired,  the 
iirface,  the  sun 
ivas  warm  with- 
le  part/  rowed 

I  running  out, 
before  tiie  en- 
their  boats  se- 
their  torches, 
it  of  the  glare 
adow  and  chill 

ly.  singing  and 
felt,  until  they 
)ut  down  their 
;tions.      Now  a 


CAUtiiir  IN   sMi'<;(;i  KK  s  cave 


49 


certain  old  "salt,"  who  iiung  about  Market  Square, 
iiaving  apiiarenlly  no  oilier  o(:(  upalion  than  to  shift  his 
i[uid,  hilcli  up  ills  bree(  hcs,  and  retail  very  fishy  yarns 
for  the  benefit  of  any  one  who  would  listen  to  him,  had, 
as  a  very  great  favor,  and  in  consiileration  of  one  dollar 
down  and  a  thousand  more  payable  in  event  of  justin- 
able  su(  (  ess.  given  to  Kiaiik  a  dec  idedly  dirty  piec  e  of 
paper  upon  which  were  scrawled  certain  c  rooked  lines 
that  purporivd  to  i>e  a  plan  of  the  interior  of  the  <  ave, 
and  to  indicate  the  precise  spot  where  Caplaiu  Kidd 
had  made  his  deposit  of  bullion  and  jewels. 

The  boys  gathered  eagerly  about  I'rank  as  with 
knitted  brow  he  studied  Men  Sculpin's  mystic  scrawl. 
Kvideiitly  he  found  it  no  c.isy  task  to  identify  its  indi(  a- 
tion.  But  at  length  his  fi  ■■  light-'ucil.  lie  thought 
he  had  caught  the  clew  all  right,  and  soon  under  his  di- 
rections the  whole  party  was  toiling  away  vigorously  in 
a  corner  of  the  cave  that  certainly  looked  a  very  fitting 
hiding  place  for  pirate  treasure. 

So  heartily  did  they  work,  inspired  by  hopes  as  splen- 
did as  they  were  vague,  that  they  took  no  thought  of 
time  until  their  stomachs  hinted  that  refreshments  would 
be  in  order,  when  they  knocked  off  for  half  an  hour, 
ate  their  lunch,  had  a  little  rest,  and  then  re-commenc cd 
with  undiminished  ardor.  After  another  hour  or  so, 
however,  signs  of  weariness  began  to  show  themselves, 
one  of  the  first  to  let  uji  being  Stan  Clarkson,  who  was 
a  lazy  kind  of  c:hap  at  any  time,  and  it  was  while  rest- 
ing on  his  pick  that  his  .[uic  k  ear  caught  the  sound  of 
waves  bi'criking  softly  upon  the  sand   which  caused  him 

i> 


^f^ 


miLMIIIilHIJ.  .  i"iuiii.».!f 


SO 


CAUGHT    IN    SMUGGLER  S    CAVE 


to  rush  toward  the  mouth  of  the  cave  witli  the  result 
already  described. 

When  the  bo>.s  realized  that  they  were  prisoners  until 
the  tide  should  fall  again  and  set  them  free,  their  first 
thought  naturally  was,  did  the  tide  fill  the  whole  cave, 
or  did  it  leave  sufficient  space  at  the  far  end  for  them  to 
await  in  safety  their  deliverance  ?  Hy  common  consent 
they  referred  this  question  to  Frank  Atherton,  and  his 
prompt  answer,  given  in  a  cheerful,  confident  tone, 
was  : 

"  We'll  be  all  right,  boys.  Uon't  get  scared.  We'll 
have  to  stay  here  a  little  longer  than  we  expected  to, 
that' sail." 

His  companions  tried  bravely  to  imitate  his  com- 
posure, although  their  spirits  were  sinking  fast,  and 
under  his  directions  they  sought  around  the  walls  for 
ledges  and  other  projections  which  would  enable  them 
to  get  as  far  out  of  the  reach  of  the  water  as  possible. 
In  doing  this  some  of  the  lights  were  extinguished 
through  being  dropped  or  overturned,  which  mishap 
heightened  their  growing  terror  until  thjy  were  on  the 
verge  of  a  panic.  But  Frank  diverted  their  thoughts 
for  the  moment  by  scolding  the  clumsy  ones  very  vigor- 
ously and  bidding  the  others  be  more  careful,  and  soon 
all,  except  himself,  had  secured  some  sort  of  a  foothold 
on  the  walls  wh'ich  raised  them  above  the  level  of 
the  cave's  floe.  There,  in  anxious  uncert-^.inty,  they 
awaited  the  coming  of  the  tide. 

As  gendy  and  playfully  as  thcagh  incapable  of  harm, 
the  dark  water  stole  up  o^e'^  the  sand  in  wave  after 


rtith  the  result 

prisoners  until 
free,  their  first 
le  nhole  cave, 
nd  for  them  to 
nimon  consent 
erton,  and  his 
onfident  tone, 

scared.   We'll 
„'  expected  to, 

itate  his  corn- 
king  fast,  and 
d  the  walls  for 
i  enable  them 
er  a.s  possible, 
e   extinguished 

which  mishap 
.,'y  were  on  the 

their  thoughts 
ines  very  vigor- 
reful,  and  soon 
rt  of  a  foothold 
e  the  level  of 
icert-^.inty,  they 

pable  of  harm, 
1   in  wave  after 


CAUGHT    IN    SMUGGLKRS    C.WE 


Si 


wave,  waxing  higher  inch  by  inch.  The  soft  ripples 
seemed  to  be  chasing  one  another  in  innocent  merri- 
ment for,  although  the  wind  blew  briskly  outsit.e,  none 
of  its  violence  was  felt  witiiin,  and  the  tide  a<lvanccd 
simply  by  its  inherent  force.  I'or  some  time  the  boys 
were  silent  ;  the  slow  yet  irresistible  progress  of  the 
vuior  exercised  a  sort  of  fascination  over  them  akin  to 
that  exerted  by  a  serpent  o\er  a  bird.  'I'iiey  did  not 
know  but  that  each  glistening  wavelet  brought  death  a 
little  nearer,  and  they  had  no  thought  for  anything  else. 

Presently,  his  young  nerves  unable  to  stand  the 
strain  any  longer,  little  Regie  Barton  burst  into  piteous 
sobs  and  dropped  his  torch,  which  vanished  with  an  ex- 
piring hiss  into  the  water  at  his  feet.  This  set  off 
others  of  the  small  boys,  and  soon  the  cave  was  filled 
with  sounds  of  weeping  and  lamentation. 

Braced  against  the  extreme  back  of  the  rave,  and 
holding  fast  the  briglitest  of  the  torches,  Frank  Ather- 
ton,  alone  of  the  twelve,  fully  retained  his  self-control. 
As  the  organizer  of  the  party  he  felt  responsible  for  the 
safety  of  its  members,  and,  being  naturally  of  a  cool, 
courageous  temperament,  his  spirit  sustained  him  in  the 
face  of  a  growing  dread  that  their  case  was  hopeless. 

"  Come,  come,  boys,"  said  he  firmly,  but  soothingly, 
"  don't  be  cry-babies.  There's  more  water  in  the  cave 
now  than  we  want,  and  its  no  use  adding  your  tears  to 
it.  Keep  &  good  grip  on  your  lights,  and  don't  lose 
your  foothold,  and  you'll  get  out  of  here  all  right 
enough. ' ' 

Higher— steadily,  smoothly,  pitilessly  higher,  rose  the 


■JHHMmmmiNMmAh 


.:I 


52  CAUGHT    IN    SMUGGLERS    CAVE 

tide.  It  played  about  Frank's  feet,  washed  c^leefuUy 
over  them,  crept  past  his  ankles  up  toward  his  knees, 
and  the  higher  it  climbed  the  c'.eei)er  sank  his  brave 
young  heart.  To  add  to  the  terrors  of  the  situation 
the  oil  in  the  lamps  began  to  give  out.  One  after 
another  they  grew  dim,  flickered  for  a  moment,  and 
then  expired,  until  at  length  only  the  torch  held  by 
Frank,  which  ha\)pily  was  one  of  extra  si/e  that  had 
been  well  filled  at  the  outset,  remained  burning. 

By  this  time  the  most  of  the  boys  had  become  too 
terrified  to  shed  tears.  Chilled  to  the  marrow,  and  al- 
most paralyzed  with  fear,  they  clung  like  limpets  to  the 
slippery  rock,  the  pallid  faces  looking  inexpressibly 
piteous  in  the  deepening  gloom. 

"  Let  us  say  our  prayers,"  whispered  Regie  Barton  ; 
and  his  companions,  by  a  common  impulse,  began  with 
chattering  lips  to  repeat  the  prayer  most  familiar  to 
them.  In  the  very  midst  of  this  there  came  a  sharp 
cry  of  fright,  followed  by  a  thrilling  splash.  Poor  little 
Regie,  in  making  a  slight  movement,  had  lost  his  foot- 
hold and  fallen  into  the  water. 

Thrusting  his  torch  into  the  hand  of  the  boy  nearest 
him  with  the  command,  "  Here,  take  care  of  this  !  I'll 
get  Regie,"  Frank  plunged  after  the  youngster,  who  in 
his  chilled  condition  was  almost  helpless,  and  dragged 
him  back  to  his  place,  and  stood  beside  him.  Still  the 
tide  rose.  The  water  lapped  about  Frank's  waist.  It 
encircled  his  heart.  It  climbed  upon  his  shoulders. 
A  few  inches  more  and  the  stern  struggle  would  be 
over. 


ashed  j^leefiiUy 
arcl  his  knees, 
sank  his  brave 
if  the  situation 
it.  One  after 
moment,  and 
torch  held  by 
I  si/e  that  had 
JMirning. 
id  become  too 
narrow,  and  al- 
.'!  limpets  to  the 
g  inexpressibly 

Regie  Barton  ; 
ilse,  began  with 
lost  familiar  to 
came  a  sharp 
sh.  Poor  little 
d  lost  his  foot- 

the  boy  nearest 
ire  of  this!  I'll 
ingster,  who  in 
)S,  and  dragged 
him.  Still  the 
ink's  waist.  It 
his  shoulders, 
iggle  would  be 


CAUGHT    IN    SMUGGLERS    C.WE 


53 


Oh  what  a  dreadful  way  it  was  to  die  !  pent  up  in 
that  dark,  dripping  cave  where  their  bodies  might  per- 
haps remain  undiscovered,  hidden  away  to  be  food  for 
tlie  crabs  and  lobsters  that  now  were  crawling  hungrily 
about  their  feet — no  loving  lips  to  give  the  last  kiss,  fio 
gentle  hands  to  tenderly  close  the  glazing  eyes,  but  in- 
stead the  merciless,  deadly  embrace  of  the  sea,  and  the 
cruel  greedy  maw  of  its  hideous  progeny  ! 

'I"he  sobs  had  ceased.  There  was  perfect  silence  save 
for  the  soft  lapping  of  the  waves  against  the  walls  slimy 
with  sea-weeds.  The  tide  need  rise  but  a  few  inches 
more,  and  its  work  would  be  complete.  It  already 
touched  Frank  Atherton's  chin.  With  a  fortitude  truly 
heroic  he  awaited  his  fate. 

But  what  was  this  ?  Had  the  water  really  ceased  to 
rise,  or  was  it  only  his  imagination  playing  him  false? 
Trembling  betwixt  the  extreme  of  hope  and  fear,  Frank 
stood  for  some  minutes  hardly  breathing  in  his  agoniz- 
ing imcertainty.     Then  a  cry  of  joy  burst  from  his  lips. 

"  Hurrah,  boys  !  "  he  shouted,  waving  his  torch  tri- 
umphantly. "The  tide's  going  down  again.  Keep 
your  places  and  we'll  all  be  saved." 

There  was  first  a  feeble  effort  at  a  united  cheer  in  re- 
sponse, and  then,  their  tongues  being  loosened  by  the 
good  news,  the  boys  began  to  hail  one  another  cheer- 
ingly  and  to  hazard  guesses  as  to  how  long  it  would  be 
before  they  would  be  released  from  their  prison. 

Oh,  how  cruelly  slow  the  tide  was  in  ebbing  out 
again  !  Surely  it  took  twice  as  long  to  fall  as  it  did  tc 
rise.     At  least  so  it  seemed  to  the  exhausted  boys,  who 


54 


CAUGHT    IN    SMUGGLERS    CAVE 


could  barely  keep  themselves  from  slipping  into  its  cold 
depths. 

But  at  length — and  not  a  moment  too  soon — it  re- 
treated sufficiently  to  permit  them  to  move  about  freely 
on  the  lloor  of  the  cave,  and  an  hour  later  they 
splashed  their  way  through  it  to  tne  entrance. 

To  their  amazement  they  found  that  it  was  as  dark 
outside  as  in  the  cave.  They  had  entered  it  at  midday. 
It  was  now  not  far  from  midnight.  Not  a  sign  of  their 
boats  could  they  find  ;  the  high  water  had  torn  the.^. 
from  their  moorings  and  carried  them  away. 

Fortunately  Frank  knew  pretty  well  the  lay  of  the 
land,  and  stumbling  slowly  along  the  shore,  they  even- 
tually reached  the  cottage  of  a  fisherman,  who,  in  re- 
sponse to  their  appeal,  took  them  in  at  once,  made  a 
big  firt  for  them,  and  did  his  best  for  their  comfort. 

The  next  morning  he  carried  them  in  his  big  boat 
back  to  Chebucto,  where  they  found  their  mysterious 
disappearance  the  sensation  of  the  town,  and  parties 
being  organized  to  go  in  search  of  them.  Their  re- 
markable story  aroused  intense  interest.  Frank  Ather- 
ton  found  himself  the  hero  of  the  day,  and  in  their 
abounding  joy  at  the  safe  return  of  their  sons,  the 
parents  of  his  companions  freely  forgave  him  for  having 
organized  the  expedition  which  had  so  narrow  an  escape 
from  perishing  in  Smuggler's  Cave. 

Although  Ben  Sculpin  stoutly  adheres  to  his  story  of 
buried  treasure,  there  has  been  no  further  attempt  to 
put  him  to  the  proof,  and  Captain  Kidd's  legacy  lies 
undisturbed. 


ig  into  its  cold 

)  soon — it  re- 
e  about  freely 
ur  later  they 
ince. 

it  was  as  dark 
1  it  at  midday, 
a  sign  of  their 
lad  torn  the."", 
ay. 

the  lay  of  the 
re,  they  even- 
n,  who,  in  re- 
once,  made  a 
jir  comfort, 
n  his  big  boat 
eir  m)sterious 
n,  and  parties 
m.  Their  re- 
Frank  Ather- 
',  and  in  their 
heir  sons,  the 
him  for  having 
rrow  an  escape 

to  his  story  of 
her  attempt  to 
Id's  legacy  lies 


^ 


QornetKinq 
5>)     \^*^ 


r€J 


is  safe  to  say  that  there  are 

ten  persons  wlio  firmly  believe 

in  tlie  sea-serpent  to  every  one 

who  does  not,  and  among  this 

big   majority   may  certainly  be 

counted  the  boys  and  girls  who 

know  anything  at  all  about  this 

mysterious  monster  of  the  deeji. 
Not  many  of  them  may  have  had  the 
rare  privilege  of  seeing  him,  or  even  of 
seeing  any  man  who  has,  but  their  fauh  is 
unfaltering,  and  they  never  go  down  to 
the  seaside,  when  the  hot  breath  of  sum 
mer  drives  them  out  of  the  city,  without 
hoping  that  they  will  get  a  glimpse  of  his 

/--  .   .   „_.-    __   — ..  — ,  j».    ...      ...    . 


hideous  hugeness  before  they  return. 


if 


56 


SOMETHING    AROUT    THE   SEA-SERPENT 


That  the  sea-serpent  should  be  a  good  deal  in  their 
thoughts  is  no  wonder,  for  he  is  much  more  talked 
about  than  any  of  his  fellow-denizens  of  the  dark,  un- 
fath(jnied  ocean  depths,  and  we  would  perhajis,  hear 
even  more  concerning  him  than  we  do,  if  sea-serpent 
stories,  like  other  fish  stories,  had  not  fallen  a  good  deal 
into  disrepute,  so  that  peo])le  are  unwilling  to  tell  them. 

The  belief  in  the  sea-serpent  is  as  old  as  iumianity 
itself,  as  indeed  it  may  well  be  ;  for  whether  there  are 
actually  any  such  dreadful  creatures  nowadays  or  not, 
there  certainly  were  lots  of  them  before  human  history 
began,  and  no  one  knows  for  how  long  thereafter. 
Immense  fellows  they  were  too,  with  necks  nearly  as 
long  as  their  names,  and  so  strong,  swift,  and  fierce 
that  the  little  crew  of  Noah's  ark  would  have  had  good 
reason  to  be  frightened  if  one  of  them  had  tried  to  get 
on  board,  or  poke  his  head  in  at  the  window.  Perhaps 
at  least  one  of  them  sjrvived  to  swallow  Jonah,  and 
carry  him  about  for  "three  long  days  and  three  long 
nights." 

The  wise  Aristotle,  who  lived  nearly  four  hundred 
years  before  Christ,  yet  knew  a  great  deal  more  than 
many  people  who  are  living  to-day,  tells  us  that  along 
the  Libyan  coast  there  were  sea-serpents  big  enough  to 
eat  oxen  and  to  upset  triremes — triremes  being  vessels 
about  the  size  of  our  modern  schooners.  Pliny,  an- 
o'.her  of  the  ancients,  relates  that  a  scpiadron  sent  by 
Alexander  the  Great  to  explore  the  Persian  Gulf  en- 
countered sea-serpents  so  huge  as  to  put  the  fleet  to 
flight;  and  other  classic  historians  have  similar  accounts. 


PENT 

deal  in  their 
more  talked 
the  dark,  un- 
[)erha])s,  hear 
if  sea-serpent 
n  a  good  deal 
;  to  tell  them, 
as  iiiimanity 
ther  there  are 
adays  or  not, 
iiman  history 
ig  thereafter. 
;cks  nearly  as 
ft,  and  fierce 
ave  had  good 
d  tried  to  get 
3w.  Perhaps 
V  Jonah,  and 
id  three  long 

four  hundred 
al  more  than 
lis  that  along 
jig  enough  to 
being  vessels 
i.  Pliny,  an- 
dron  sent  by 
iian  Gulf  en- 
t  the  fleet  to 
lilar  accounts. 


SOMETHING    AHOUT    T.!F,   SEA-SERPENT 


57 


Getting  a  good  deal  nearer  our  own  times,  we  come 
to  (Jlaus  Magnus,  arclibisliop  of  L'psala,  in  Sweden, 
who,  writing  about  tliree  hundred  years  ago,  affirms 
that  the  seafaring  folk  of  Norway  "all  agree  that  .  .  . 
there  is  a  ser[)ent  there  which  is  of  vast  magnitude, 
namely,  two  hundred  feet  long,  and  moreover,  twenty 
feet  thick,  which  will  go  alone  from  his  holes  on  a 
clear  night  in  summer  and  devour  calves,  lambs,  and 
hogs."  'That  is  bad  enough  surely,  but  it  is  not  the 
worst,  for  "  this  snake  dis(|r.iets  the  shipi)ers,  and  he 
puts  up  his  head  on  high  like  a  i)illar.  and  catcheth 
away  men,  and  he  devours  them." 

The  next  best  evidence  to  an  archbishop's  is  that  of 
a  bishop,  I  suppose,  and  accordingly  it  is  satisfoctory  to 
have  so  worthy  and  scientific  a  man  as  Uishoi)  Pontop- 
pidan,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  not  only  describing 
the  sea-serpent  very  minutely,  but  taking  pains  to  have 
a  ])icture  of  him  made  which  ])rol)ably  forms  the  chief 
basis  of  our  present  conceptions  of  his  snakcship.  To 
be  sure,  unless  we  are  content  with  telling  only  half  the 
truth,  we  must  add  that  Mr.  Lee,  the  famous  natural- 
ist, would  explain  away  the  good  bisho])'s  rather  start- 
ling ])i(:ture  by  saying  that  the  supposed  coils  of  tlie 
serpent's  body  present  exactly  the  ai)])carance  of  eight 
porpoises  following  one  another  in  a  line,  as  porpoises 
are  wont  to  do,  and  that  the  head  was  jirobably  the 
product  of  an  excited  imagination.  So  that  if  we  had 
only  Bishop  Pontoppidan  to  depend  ujion,  we  might 
feel  a  little  shaken  in  our  faith.  P)Ut  just  about  the 
same  time  the  Rev.  Hans  Egede,  the  apostle  of  Green- 


58 


SOMETHING    ABOUT    THE   SEA-SERPENT 


land,  as  they  called  him,  a  most  pious,  truthful,  and 
well-informed  man,  claimed  to  have  seen  the  awful 
creature  with  his  own  eyes  when  on  his  way  to  Green- 
land, and  gives  a  very  graphic  account  of  it,  which  a 
brother  missionary  made  more  easily  understood  by 
means  of  an  ecpially  graphic  sketch. 

Mr.  Lee,  whose  devcuon  to  science  seems  to  make 
him  (piile  forget  due  reverence  for  church  dignitaries, 
also  argues  that  what  the  apostle  of  (Ireenland  really 
saw  was  one  of  the  great  calamaries,  or  cuttles,  which 
have  sin('e  been  oaasionally  met  witii. 

In  the  same  pitiless  fashion  did  Sir  Kverard  Home 
dispose  of  wiiat  seemed  a  most  convincing  narrative  of 
the  stranding  of  a  sea-serpent  on  one  of  the  Orkney 
Islands  in  1808.  by  jjroving  from  some  of  the  vertebra; 
which  had  been  preserved,  that  it  was  ncjthing  more 
than  a  i)articularly  big  basking  shark.  Under  tliese 
discouraging  circumstances  it  is  very  consolitig  to  find 
Mr.  Lee  cpiite  at  a  loss  to  explain  away  the  largo  marine 
animal  that  was  seen  at  Gloucester  Harbor,  Massachu- 
setts, in  the  year  1817.  The  matter  was  carefully  in- 
vestigated by  the  Linna;an  Society  of  New  England, 
which  had  the  sworn  depositions  of  eleven  eye-wit- 
nesses taken  before  magistrates,  and  they  all  agreed 
that  the  monster  had  the  appearance  and  movement  of 
a  serpent,  a  head  as  large  as  a  horse's,  and  a  length 
of  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  feet. 

Neither  does  Mr.  Lee  know  just  what  to  do  with  the 
monster  seen  by  a  party  of  British  officers  in  Mar- 
garet's Hay,  Nova  Scotia,  which  had  a  head  and  neck 


PENT 

truthful,  and 
.'11  the  awful 
uy  to  (Ircun- 
f  it,  wliich  u 
idcrstood    by 

ems  to  make 

li  dignitaries, 
enland  really 
.-utiles,  which 

^erard  Home 
y  narrative  of 
f  the  Orkney 
the  vertchra; 
lothing  more 
U  nder  these 
ioli:1g  to  find 
;  largo  marine 
)r,  Massarhu- 
>  carefully  in- 
ew  England. 
;ven  eye-wit- 
ey  all  agreed 
movement  of 
and   a  length 

o  do  with  the 
icers  in  Mar- 
ead  and  neck 


SOMETHING    ABOUT    THE   SEA-SERPENT 


59 


precisely  like  those  of  a  common  snake,  only  that 
the  head  was  considerably  larger  than  a  horse's  and  the 
whole  length  of  the  body  at  least  eighty  feet.  When 
seen  it  was  moving  rapidly  through  the  water,  leaving  a 
regular  wake  behind  it,  and  fortunately  took  no  notice 
of  the  officers,  who  felt  not  a  whit  too  secure  on  board 
their  little  yacht. 

Putting  aside  these  two  accounts,   two  others  from 
Norway  of  the  sea-serpent  being  seen  near  the  rocky 
coast  of  that  country  in   1845  and  again  in   1X47,  our 
faith  is  naturally  much   revived,    esi)e(:ially  when  the 
very  next  year  brought  with  it  an  occurrence  that  cer- 
tainly  seems  enough    in  itself  to  convince    the   most 
incredulous.      In    August,    1848,    the    Hritisli    warship 
"Daidaliis"  was  on  her  homeward  vo'  ige   from  the 
I'.ast  Indies,  when  one  afternoon  an  enormous  s»:rpent, 
with  head  and  .shoulders  kept  constantly  four  feet  above 
the  surface  of  the  water,  and  with  about  fifty  feet  of  body 
discernible   behind,    came    rapidly  toward    the  vessel, 
passing  so  close  under  the  lee  quarter  that  the  captain 
says,    ''  Had  it   been   a   man   of  my   acquaintance    I 
should  easily  have  recognized   his   features   with    the 
naked  eye."     It  was  going  at  the  pace  of  from  twelve 
to  fifteen  miles  an  hour,  and  although  it  approached  so 
near  the  ship,  it  did  not  deviate  in  the  slightest  degree 
from  its  course,  or  take  any  notice  of  those  who  were 
■  watching  it  with  wondering  eyes.     The  captain  had  a 
drawing  prepared  immediately  afterward,  which  all  who 
saw  the  creature  certified  as  being  correct,  and  we  may 
therefore  safely  conclude  that  that  picture  would  give 


6f^ 


SOMETHING    ABOUT    THE   SEA-SERPENT 


■ff^ 


US  about  as  good  an  idea  o)  tlic  sca-serpcnt  as  >vc  tan 
get,  II  ilcss  we  liasc  tlic  rare  good  fortune  to  sec  liini 
witli  our  own  eyes  some  day. 

I'liere  are  lialf  a  dozen  other  instances  on  record  of 
appearances  of  the  sea-serpent,  a  very  remarkable  one 
being  where  tlie  ( rcw  of  .i  wluding  sliip  saw  a  sperm 
wliale  wl)i(h  was  "gripiied  around  the  Ixuly  with  two 
turns  of  what  ai)peared  to  lie  a  liuge  serpent.  The 
serpent  wliirleil  its  vii  tim  round  and  round  for  about 
fifteen  minuies,  and  tlien  suddenly  dragged  it  to  the 
bottom,  head  first." 

Upon  the  whole  it  seems  to  be  undeniable,  as  Mr. 
I-ee  himself  admits,  that  there  are  monsters  of  the 
decj)  still  unknown  to  science  which,  having  their  homes 
in  the  abysmal  depths  of  the  sea,  only  occasionally 
come  to  tiie  surface,  and  it  is  also  cpiite  ])ossible  that 
among  these  "great  unknowns"  there  are  marine 
snakes,  not  merely  one  sea-serpent,  but  several  of 
them,  of  a  si/.e  <piite  suffi(  ient  to  bear  out  the  stories 
told  concerning  them.  So  that  when  i)eople  who  fain 
wonkl  be  considered  very  scientific  and  skeptical,  seem 
inclined  to  laugh  at  us  for  our  belief  in  the  existence 
of  the  sea-serpent,  we  can  answer  them  by  pointing 
out  that  only  a  few  years  ago  they  would  no  doubt  have 
smiled  in  a  most  sujjerior  fashion  at  the  idea  of  a  cuttle 
(isb  fifty  feet  long,  whereas  even  huger  fellows  are  now- 
well  Known  to  exist.  In  the  same  way,  pcrliaps,  the 
existence  of  the  veritable  sea-seri)ent  will  by  and  by  be 
l)roven  beyond  the  sha('  •  of  a  doubt,  and  then  the 
laugh  will  be  all  on  our  side. 


PENT 

nt  as  'Vc  tan 
If  to  sec  liiin 

on  record  of 
narkalilc  one 
saw  a  sperm 
xly  witli  two 
npent.  The 
11(1  for  about 
;e(l   it   to   tlie 

iabic,  as  Mr. 
isters  of  the 
;  their  homes 

occasionally 
possible  that 

are  marine 
it  several  of 
it  the  stories 
:)ple  who  fain 
eptical,  seem 
;he  existence 

by  pointing 
o  doubt  have 
L-aof  a  cuttle 
lows  are  now 
perhaps,  the 
by  and  by  be 
md  then  the 


_      e/rioiToo. 


LI-'.ASI'',,  captain, 

will  you  give  me  a 
berth  ?  I'll  work  my 
passage." 
Captain  Patterson  turned 
upon  the  speaker  a  look  of 
sharp  imiiatieu' e.  \\r  was 
constantly  iieing  bothered  witli 
simil".  >■  rtcpiests  coming  from 
bumpkins  tired  of  the  farm,  or  from 
schoolboys  ambitious  to  become  gay 
sea-rovers,  and  the  customary  gruff  re- 
sal  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  when 
something  in  the  apjjearance  and  e.xpression  of 
this  a]iplicant  caused  him  to  hesitate. 
He  did  not  seem  to  be  of  the  usual  sort.  He  was 
a  boy  of  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  of  frank  and  pleas- 
ing countenance,  sturdy  and  well  developed  of  figure, 
and  comfortably  though  plainly  clad.  He  had,  more- 
over, a  bright  manly  air  that  impressed  the  old  marinev 
favorably.  So  postponing  the  refusal  and  scrutinizing 
the  lad  from  head  to  foot,  he  said  somewhat  curtly : 

61 


6i 


CAITAIN,  CKEW,  AND    I'lI.OT   TOO 


"Work  your  passage,  cli  ?  What  do  you  know 
about  a  vchscI  ? ' ' 

"Oil,  a  t;()()(l  tlfal,"  replied  the  hoy,  confidently 
yet  resi)e(trully.  "  I've  lieeii  on  hoard  of  one  niost  all 
my  life." 

"  \oM  lia\e,  indeed,"  returned  the  captain  in  more 
gra(  iou>i  tones.  "  i'hen  you  ought  to  know  the  roi)es. 
Just  jump  aboard  and  tell  us  something  about  yourself." 

U  itli  the  ease  born  of  long  practice  the  boy  swung 
himself  on  to  the  after-deck,  and  at  the  captain's  invi- 
tation took  a  seat  beside  him  on  the  pooj).  He  then 
told  his  story. 

His  name  was  Dick  Hayes,  and  he  hailed  from  one 
of  the  fisliing  hamlets  whose  white  cottages  dot  the 
northern  coast  of  Nova  Scotia.  From  childhood  his 
father  had  taken  him  with  him  to  the  fishing  grounds  in 
his  stanch  boat,  and  he  had  been  trained  to  helj)  to 
the  best  of  his  ability.  He  had  also  made  several  trips 
to  the  banks  in  larger  craft.  About  two  months  i)re- 
viously  he  had  to  remain  ashore  bec:ause  of  an  illness. 
'I'he  "Merry  Jane"  went  to  the  Banks  without  him 
and  never  returned.  A  fearful  .storm  beset  her. 
Stanch  and  sturdy  though  she  was,  she  vanislied  with 
all  on  board,  and  jioor  Dick  found  himself  an  or])han, 
his  mother  having  died  years  previously,  and  possessed 
of  little  more  than  the  clothes  on  his  back.  Taking  an 
aversion  to  the  occupation  which  had  cost  his  father  his 
life,  and  feeling  free  to  indulge  the  ambition  long  cher- 
ished of  seeing  the  world,  he  determined  to  go  on  to 
St.  John,  where  he  would  seek  employment  upon  one 


DO 

u    you    know 

,  ronfidcntly 
■  one  most  all 

)tain  in  more 
)w  tlic  ro|)C's. 
)iit  yourself." 
le  boy  swung 
aptain's  invi- 
))).      He  then 

led  from  one 
ages  (lot  the 
childhood  his 
ng  grounds  in 
■il  to  helj)  to 
e  several  trips 

months  pre- 

of  an  illness. 

without  him 
I  beset  her. 
vanished  with 
If  an  or])han, 
ind  possessed 
;.     Taking  an 

his  father  his 
ion  long  cher- 
1  to  go  on  to 
ent  upon  one 


CAPTAIN,  CREW,  AND    I'llOT  TOO  O^ 

of  tiie  large  ships  wliii  h  ( arry  limber  over  the  oc  ean  to 
Great  IJrilain.  lie  accordingly  had  made  his  way ac  ross 
the  proviiK  e  to  I'arrsboro,  and  there  Id  his  great  joy 
found  the  trim  schooner  ••  limily  J.,"  Captain  Patter- 
son, loaded  witli  i>ilingin:cl  almost  ready  to  start  for  St.' 
Jolm,  the  very  place  he  had  in  view.  He  wound  up 
ills  simple  story  with  an  earnest  reipiest  that  he  might 
be  permitted  to  go  in  the  schooner. 

While  listening  to  the  lad.  Captain  Patterson  c|uite 
changed  his  mind,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  done  speak- 
ing he  gave  him  a  hearty  slap  on  the  back  by  way  of 
showing  his  sympathy,  and  e.\claimed  in  the  kindliest 
tone  : 

"Certainly,  my  boy!  you're  right  welcome  to  a 
berth,  and  if  the  piling  sells  well.  I  won't  grudge  you 
a  few  dollars  for  your  help.  Have  you  any  things  to 
bring  on  board  ?" 

Dick  blushed  and  i)ointed  to  a  small  Imndle  on  the 
wharf.  "'I'hat's  ail  I  have  in  tlie  world,"  said  he 
simply. 

"  So  much  the  less  to  worry  about,"  laughingly  said 
the  ca[)tain.  "  Bring  it  aboard,  and  come  and  have  a 
bite  of  supi)er."  With  joyful  alacrity  Dick,  who  had 
eaten  nothing  since  morning,  followed  Captain  Patter- 
son to  tiie  cabin  and  ate  heartily  of  the  substantial  fixre 
placed  before  him. 

The  following  morning  the  sc:hooner  set  her  sails, 
and  with  a  favoring  breeze  glided  out  into  the  muddy 
waters  of  the  Minas  Basin.  Besides  the  captain  and 
himself,  Dick  was  surprised  to  find  only  one  other  per- 


m 


64 


CAPTAIN,  CREW,  AND    PILOT   TOO 


son  aboard,  to  wit,  the  mate,  a  grizzled  old  sailor  who 
seemed  in  no  hurry  to  be  friendly.  But  Captain  Pat- 
terson explained  that  he  intended  to  call  at  Ratchford 
Harbor  for  the  two  men  who  constituted  his  crew,  and 
who  had  their  homes  there.  In  the  meantime  Dick 
must  needs  do  his  best  to  fill  the  vacancy,  and  he  soon 
showed  himself  so  active  and  expert  a  sailor  as  to  make 
the  captain  vc  :)ad  that  he  had  taken  him  on  board. 
As  they  tar  ed  ^oward  Ratchford  Harbor  there  came 
a  sudden  and  >iost  unwelcome  change  in  both  wind 
and  weather.  The  former  swung  around  to  the  north- 
east, and  the  latter  grew  thick  and  threatening.  Cap- 
tain Patterson  began  to  feel  anxious.  The  "  Emily  J.  " 
was  quite  too  large  a  vessel  to  be  handled  readily  by 
two  men  and  a  boy  in  iny  sort  of  a  blow,  and  it  prom- 
ised to  be  a  hard  job  ^-tting  her  into  the  harbor. 

All  through  that  afternoon  the  schooner  beat  about 
the  basin,  and  it  was  growing  dusk  before  she  neared 
her  destination.  Meantime  the  wind  steadily  height- 
ened, and  she  became  more  and  more  difficult  to  man- 
age. At  length  matters  reached  a  crisis  when  she  un- 
expectedly jibed  ;  the  main  boom,  breaking  away  from 
the  guy,  swung  swiftly  across  the  after-deck,  and  unfor- 
tunately encountering  the  mate  in  its  path,  swept  him 
off  into  the  water  as  though  he  had  been  a  fly. 

Dick  was  the  first  to  see  the  accident,  and  he  cried 
to  the  captain,  who  was  steering : 

"The  mate's  overboard  !  Hard  down  on  the  tiller, 
sir,  and  bring  her  to  the  wind,  quick  !  " 

The  captain  instantly  obeyed,  and  the  sails  flapped 


'^ 


roo 

old  sailor  who 
t  Captain  Pat- 
1  at  Ratchford 

his  crew,  and 
jeantime  Dick 
r,  and  he  soon 
lor  as  to  make 
him  on  board. 
)or  there  came 

in  both  wind 

I  to  the  north- 
itening.  Cap- 
le  "  Emily  J.  " 
lied  readily  by 
',  and  it  prom- 
;  harbor, 

ler  beat  about 
ore  she  neared 
iteadily  height- 
ifficult  to  man- 
i  when  she  un- 
king away  from 
;ck,  and  unfor- 
ath,  swept  him 

II  a  fly. 

t,  and  he  cried 

,'n  on  the  tiller, 
le  sails  flapped 


CAPTAIN,   CREW,   AND    I'lLOT    TOO 


65 


fiercely  as  the  wind  went  out  of  them.      Dropping  the 
tiller,  the  captain  sprang  to  the  mainmast. 

•'  Let  go  the  boat  while  1  down  with  the  mainsail," 
he  shouted  to  Dick. 

The  boat  hung  on  davits  at  the  stern,  and  so  promptly 
did  Dick  obey  that  she  was  tossing  in  the  schooner's 
wake  before  the  captain  had  the  sail  down. 

"Well  done,  Dick,"  he  cried,  springing  into  the 
boat.  ''Now,  take  the  tiller,  and  keep  her  head  in 
the  wind  till  I  get  back."  Then  off  he  rowed  in  scan  h 
of  the  imperiled  mate,  leaving  the  boy  in  sole  charge  of 
the  vessel. 

(Irasping  the  tiller  firmly  Dick  set  himself  to  obey 
the  captain's  orders,  and  had  the  wind  continued  to 
blow  steadily  from  the  same  quarter  all  no  doubt  would 
have  gone  well.  But  hardly  did  the  boat  dance  away 
over  the  waves  into  the  deepening  dusk  tlian  the  wind 
veered  around  as  suddenly  as  before,  the  jib  and  fore- 
sail bellied  out,  the  schooner  careened  before  the  blast, 
and  Dick  had  no  other  alternative  than  to  let  her  run 
off  until  he  could  bring  her  round  again. 

Many  minutes  passed  before  this  could  be  accom- 
plished, and  when  he  did  succeed  the  schooner  lay  a 
long  distance  from  where  the  mate  had  been  knocked 
overboard,  and  the  boat  had  utterly  disappeared.  Then 
for  the  first  time  Dick  realized  his  situation.  He,  a 
mere  boy  of  fifteen,  alone  and  unaided,  must  navigate 
a  schooner  of  seventy  tons  through  unknown  waters 
with  the  night  coming  on  and  "  chrty  weather  "  pre- 
vaiUng.     Well  was  it  for  him  that  he  had  shared  many 


mmi 


66 


CAPTAIN,  CREW,  AND    PILOT   TOO 


a  night's  watch  with  his  father  in  the  stormy  St.  Law- 
rence (hilf,  and  that  the  dari<ness  had  no  especial  ter- 
rors for  him. 

letting  the  "  lOmily  J."  run  before  the  wind,  he 
hastened  to  light  the  lamp  in  the  binnacle  and  to  hang 
out  the  ])()rt  and  starboard  lanterns.  'I'hey  would  serve 
the  double  purpose  of  guiding  tiie  captain  back  and  of 
saving  the  schooner  from  a  collision  in  event  of  other 
vessels  being  met.  The  lights  being  attended  to,  his 
warmest  coal  buttoned  tightly  about  him,  and  his  "sou'- 
wester" tied  securely  under  his  chin,  he  resumed  his 
place  at  the  tiller,  brought  the  schooner  up  into  the 
wind,  and  lay  to  amid  the  tossing  white  caps,  peering 
eagerly  into  the  surrounding  darkness  and  hoping  every 
moment  to  hear  the  hail  from  Captain  Patterson  that 
would  be  the  most  welcome  of  all  sounds. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  strange  mingling  of  emotions  ; 
a  certain  sense  of  pride  at  the  great  responsibility  so 
suddenly  thrust  upon  him,  contended  with  nervous 
anxiety  lest  disaster  should  be  the  result,  and  above 
all  was  a  keen  concern  regarding  the  two  men  battling 
for  their  Uves  in  the  darkness.  He  wondered  if  the 
mate  had  been  picked  up,  and  whether  the  little  boat 
would  be  able  to  outlive  so  rough  a  sea,  for  it  was  now 
blowing  half  a  gale.  Could  he  be  very  far  from  the 
boat?     It  was  impossible  to  tell. 

Presently  a  light  became  visible  off  the  port  bow,  and 
he  determined  to  steer  toward  it.  He  found  it  very 
hard  to  manage  the  schooner.  Whenever  he  tacked  he 
had  to  lash  the  tiller,  and  spring  to  let  go  the  jib  and 


li 


3() 

rmy  St,  Law- 
)  especial  ter- 

he   wind,   he 

_■  and  to  hang 

y  would  serve 

1  hack  and  of 

vent  of  other 

ended  to,  his 

nd  his  "sou'- 

resumed  his 

r  up  into  the 

caps,  peering 

hoping  every 

I'atterson  that 

of  emotions ; 
sponsibility  so 

with  nervous 
lit,  and  above 
)  men  battling 
)ndered  if  the 
the  little  boat 
for  it  was  now 
/  far  from  the 

port  bow,  and 

found  it  very 

;r  he  tacked  he 

go  the  jib  and 


CAITAIN,  CREW,  AND    PILOT   TOO 


67 


foresheets  on  the  one  side,  and  belay  them  on  the 
other.  It  was  exhausting  work,  but  there  was  no  help 
for  it ;  it  had  to  be  done. 

When  he  neared  the  light  his  practised  eye  made  it 
out  to  be  the  cheering  gleam  from  a  lighthouse,  and  one 
glance  at  the  chart  was  sufficient  to  fix  his  position. 
This  was  undoubtedly  Cape  D'Or  light,  and  he  must 
have  therefore  sailed  out  of  Minas  Channel  into  the 
broad  waters  of  the  bay  of  Fujidy. 

He  felt  glad  of  this.  He  would  now  have  plenty  of 
sea-room,  and  frecjuent  tacking  would  no  longer  be 
necessary.  Moreover,  the  wind  was  blowing  off  the 
Nova_  Scotian  coast  toward  New  Brunswick,  whither 
Captain  Patterson  had  expected  to  navigate  his  schooner, 
and  if  Dick  could  only  manage  to  bring  her  safely  into 
St.  John,  his  responsibility  would  be  over,  and  perhaps 
Captain  Patterson  might  also  reach  there  alive  and  re- 
claim his  property. 

The  knowledge  of  his  position  gave  Dick  courage. 
He  began  to  feel  more  at  home  in  his  novel  situation, 
and  inspiration  came  to  him  from  the  thought  that  if  he 
did  succeed  in  piloting  the  "  Emily  J."  safe  into  port, 
he  would  . complish  a  feat  in  navigation  the  like  of 
which  had  perhaps  never  been  before. 

He  needed  all  the  insi)iration  and  courage  he  could 
get  from  any  source,  poor  boy  !  for  although  the 
weather  happily  grew  no  worse,  it  continued  ugly 
encnigh,  and  he  was  startled  many  a  time  as  the  long 
hours  of  darkness  wore  on.  The  heavily-laden  vessel, 
with  only  jib  and  foresail  set,  made  slow  and  clumsy 


68 


CAPTAIN,   ^.rKW,  AND    PILOT   TOO 


progress,  yet  t;ixed  his  skill  and  strength  to  the  utter- 
most to  keep  ner  from  becoming  the  sport  of  the  wind 

and  waves. 

After  he  had  been  several  hours  at  the  tiller,  he  be- 
came so  weary  that  he  did  not  see  hoNV  he  could  hold 
out  until  morning.  Oh,  how  he  longed  to  be  free  to 
curl  up  into  his  snug  berth  and  rest  his  tired  body  ! 
But  rest  meant  death  for  him  and  destruction  to  the 
schooner,  and  summoning  all  his  resolution  he  sturdily 
maintained  the  struggle. 

At  length  the  darkness  grew  less  intense,  and  the  sky 
began  to  color  up  with  the  promise   of  day.     Then 
came  the  dawn,  and  after  it  the  broad  daylight,  which 
found  Dick  still  at  the  helm,   eyes   bloodshot,   body 
trembling,  hand  cpiivering,  but  spirit  unconciuered,  de- 
termined not  to  let  goof  the  tiller  until  the  "Emily 
J."   was   safe    within    St.   John   harbor.      Happily  the 
sunrise  brought  with  it  a  welcome  change  in  the  weather. 
The  clouds  cleared  from  the  sky,  the  rude  blast  sub- 
sided mto  a  pleasant  breeze,  and  the   bright  sunlight 
smiled  upon  the  brave  lad  as,  inspired  to  fresh  exer- 
tions, he  pointed  the  schooner  for  the  land  now  dimly 
visible,  which  he  felt  sure  must  be  the  New  Brunswick 

coast. 

Through  the  early  morning  he  sailed  smoothly  along, 
finding  little  trouble  in  managing  the  schooner.  An 
hour  before  noon  he  made  the  mouth  of  the  harbor  of 
St.  John.  Both  breeze  and  tide  were  in  his  favor,  so 
that  it  was  an  easy  task  to  effect  an  entrance.  Once 
well  inside   Partridge  Island,   he   considered   that  his 


)0 


CAFfAIN,  CREW,  AND    I'lLOT   TOO 


69 


to  the  utter- 
of  the  wind 

tiller,  he  be- 
e  could  hold 
to  be  free  to 
tired  body  ! 
uction  to  the 
jn  he  sturdily 

;,  and  the  sky 
day.     Then 
aylight,  which 
odshot,   body 
anciuered,  de- 
1  the  "  Emily 
Happily  the 
n  the  weat'iier. 
ide  blast  sub- 
)right  sunlight 
to  fresh  exer- 
nd  now  dimly 
lew  Brunswick 

iioothly  along, 
schooner.  An 
"  the  harbor  of 
1  his  favor,  so 
itrance.  Once 
iered   that  his 


troubles  were  i)ractically  over,  and  so  great  was  the 
sense  of  relief  that  he  swung  his  cap  in  the  air,  and 
gave  a  hearty  "  Hip-hip-hurrah  !  "  although  there  was 
nobody  to  hear  but  himself  ■ 

Yet  proud  as  he  naturally  felt,  he  had  too  much  sense 
to  think  of  navigating  tlie  crowded  harbor.  Accord- 
ingly he  dropped  the  anchor,  lowered  the  sail.  sen.  up 
the  signal  for  a  tug  boat,  and  then  utterly  tired  out, 
threw  himself  down  ujjon  the  poop  with  n  coil  of  rope 
for  a  pillow  and  in  a  moment  was  in  a  sound  sleep. 

An  hour  later  a  smart  tug  came  puliling  up  alongside 
the  "Family  J.,''  and  from  it  there  leajjcd  on  board 
the  schooner  a  man  whose  face  fairly  glowed  with  joy 
and  gratitude.  Bending  over  the  sleeper,  he  shook 
him  gently,  saying  :    "  Dick,  my  boy,  wake  up." 

Dick  stirred  slightly,  half  opened  his  eyes,  and  re- 
lapsed into  slumber.  'I'he  new-comer  made  a  tour  of 
the  vessel,  satisfied  himself  that  no  damage  had  been  suf- 
fered, and  then  renewed  his  efforts  to  arouse  the  boy. 

At  last  Dick  awoke,  looked  up  into  his  disturber's 
face,  and  gave  a  start  of  surprise. 

"Is  it  you,  Captain  Patterson?"  he  cried,  his  'n-^; 
becoming  radiant.  "  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  !  I  was  afraid 
you'd  been  drowned.     And  is  the  mate  safe  too  ?  " 

There  were  tears  of  joy  in  the  captain's  eyes  as  he 
answered  : 

"We  both  reached  land  all  right,  Dick,  thank  God  ! 
though  I  thought  we'd  never  do  it  ;  but  we  made  Quaco 
by  daybreak  and  hired  a  team,  and  drove  right  on  t 
St.  John,  where  I  got  this  tug  and  started  out  to  hunt 


70 


CAPTAIN,  CREW,  AND    PILOT   TOO 


for  the  schooner,  thinking  she  might  be  knocking  ibout 
the  bay  of  Fundy  somewhere,  if  she  hadn't  gone 
ashore  and,  bless  my  heart  !  if  1  didn't  find  her  with- 
out going  oiitside  of  the  harbor.  1  couldn't  believe  my 
eyes  when  I  first  sighted  her  ;  but  here  she  is,  sure 
enough,  not  on.>  bit  damaged  ;  and  it's  all  your  doings, 
Dick,  CJod  bless  you  !  ' '  After  saying  which,  the  grateful 
captain  gwe  Dick  a  hug  that  fairly  took  his  breath  away, 
and  tlien  promised  him  a  goodly  share  of  the  profits  of 
the  cargo  he  had  so  pluckily  steered  into  safety. 

When  the  story  of  Dick  Hayes'  remarkable  achieve- 
ment became  known  in  St.  John,  he  found  himself 
quite  a  hero.  A  handsome  subscription  was  promptly 
raised  among  the  shipowners  and  merchants  in  his  be- 
half, and  that  was  only  the  beginning  of  his  i;ood  for- 
tune. One  of  the  largest  shipowners  sent  for  him, 
asked  for  his  story  from  his  own  lips,  became  deeply 
interested  in  him,  and  decided  to  take  him  under  his 

own  care. 

The  sequel  makes  very  pleasant  telling.  Dick  had 
two  years  at  a  good  school,  then  went  to  sea  in  one  of 
his  patron's  vessels,  made  rapid  progress  upward  as  the 
years  slipped  by,  until  he  was  placed  in  command  of 
the  very  finest  ship  in  the  fleet,  realized  all  his  dreams 
of  foreign  travel,  became  a  shipowner  himself,  and  finally 
retired  upon  an  ample  fortune  with  many  stirring  tales 
to  tell,  based  upon  his  own  experience  ;  but  of  them  all, 
the  one  he  loved  best  was  how  he  once  had  been  cap- 
tain, crew,  and  pilot  too,  of  the  schooner  "Emily  J."  in 
a  voyage  across  the  boisterous  bay  of  Fundy. 


i'; 


icking  about 
ladn't  gone 
id  her  with- 
t  believe  my 
she  is,  sure 
your  doings, 
,  the  grateful 
breath  away, 
he  profits  of 
ifety. 

ble  achieve- 
)und  himself 
ras  pronjjtly 
its  in  his  be- 
lis  jTood  for- 
int  for  him, 
came  deeply 
m  under  his 

;.  Dick  had 
sea  in  one  of 
ipward  as  the 

command  of 
,11  his  dreams 
:lf,  and  finally 

stirring  tales 
it  of  them  all, 
ad  been  cap- 
'  Emily  J."  in 
idy. 


n  r-' 


.>^: 


-  ajin^; 


■  i«w«i».i|i".]r 


■9T-        [^ 


HE  natural-science  class  was 
up  for  recitation   at   I'ic- 
tou  Academy,  and  the 
teadierwas  brightly  ex- 
plaining   the    theory    of 
sound  to  a  dozen  deeply 
interested  boys. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  telling  them  how 
every  sound  made  tiny  waves  in 
the  air,  just  as  a  stone  does  when 
thrown  into  still  water,  "that  some  wise  men  are  of 
the  opinion  that  those  waves,  or  pulsations,  never 
altogether  cease  after  they  have  once  been  started. 
Nobody,  of  course,  has  delicate  enough  hearing  to 
catch  them  ;  but  there  they  are  all  the  same,  just 
as  when  they  first  made  an  impression  upon  the  ear 
for  which  they  were  intended,  and  they  will  continue 

7' 


72 


NEVER-DYING    WORDS 


to  pulsate  until  the  end  of  the  world.  So  yo,i  see, 
boys,  if  that  is  true,  no  utterance  that  goes  from  our 
lips  into  the  air  can  ever  be  lost,  but  lives  on  long 
after  our  voices  are  forever  silent.  All  the  words 
that  have  been  spoken  since  Adam  first  opened  his 
mouth  are  preserved  in  the  air  ;  and  if  our  sense  of 
t-.f-  ring  were  only  sharp  enough,  we  might  hear  Noah 
giviii;  directions  at  the  building  of  the  ark,  David  sing- 
ing before  Saul,  Christ  preaching  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  Shakespeare  reading  '  Hamlet '  to  his  admir- 
ing friends,  Washington  giving  commands  to  his  army 
at  Vorktown,  and  so  on  down  through  the  centuries  to 
what  was  said  by  ourselves  the  day  before  yesterday. ' ' 

Seeing  how  eagerly  the  boys  were  listening,  Mr.  May- 
nard  thought  it  a  good  chance  to  teach  them  something 
more  than  science,  so  he  continued  in  a  somewhat 
graver  tone  ; 

"  If,  then,  all  the  words  that  you  and  I  havt  spoken, 
all  the  speeches  we  have  made,  kind  or  unkind,  re- 
spectful or  impertinent,  true  or  false,  cross  or  good- 
natured,  are  still  in  the  air  about  us.  even  thorgh  we 
cannot  hear  them,  how  would  we  like  it  if  they  all  could 
be  heard  ?  Wouldn't  some  of  us  be  made  to  feel  a  good 
deal  ashamed  ?  What  do  you  think  ?  You  often  sing, 
'  Kind  words  can  never  die  '  ;  but  suppose  unkind 
words  never  die  either?  " 

Nobody  in  the  class  was  brave  enough  to  answer,  so 
Mr.  Maynard  wisely  dismissed  it,  and  soon  after 
school  broke  up  for  the  day. 

Fred   Newton  and   Will   Munroe  walked  home   t"- 


NEVER-DYING   WOl'DS 


73 


So  yo'.i  see, 
)es  from  our 
ves  on  long 
1  the  words 
Oldened  his 
Dur  sense  of 
;  hear  Noah 
,  David  sing- 
mon  on  the 

0  his  admir- 
to  his  army 
centuries  to 

ifesterday. ' ' 
ig,  Mr.  May- 
m  something 
a  somewhat 

have  spoken, 
•  unkind,  re- 
oss  or  good- 
:n  thorgh  we 
they  all  could 
to  feel  a  good 
)U  often  sing, 
)pose   unkind 

to  answer,  so 

1  soon    after 

;ed  home  t  - 


■j,clhcT,  as  they  almost  always  did,  being  great  friends  ; 
and  they  both  were  unusually  ijuiet  for  a  time,  when 
Fred  suddenly  ex<  laimed  ; 

"Say,  Will,  that  was  a  queer  thing  Mr.  Maynard 
told  us  this  afternoon  about  never-dying  words.  I 
don't  half  believe  it  myself" 

"It  does  seem  a  ([ueer  idea,  Fred,  and  1  don't 
quite  like  it,  either,"  replied  Will.  "A  fellow  is  al- 
ways saying  things  he  oughtn't  to,  and  it  isn't  pleasant 
to  think  of  them  i)eing  up  there  in  the  air  still,  even  if 
people  can't  hear  them." 

"Why,  of  course,"  .rejoined  Fred  who,  as  all  his 
friends  knew  and  some  of  them  at  the  e.xjjense  of  their 
feelings,  had  a  very  ready  tongue  and  a  sharp  one  at 
that,  "you  can't  always  stop  to  think  just  what  y(  u're 
going  to  say,  especially  when  your  mad  is  up  about 
something." 

"That's  so,"  concurred  Will  promptly.  "When  I 
get  mad  I  just  rip  out  the  first  thing  that  comes  handy  ; 
and  it  isn't  always  what  I'd  like  Mr.  Maynard  to  hear, 
I  tell  you.  I'm  just  precious  glad  he  can't  find  out 
what  is  up  there  in  the  air." 

"Well,  it's  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk,  anyway," 
returned  Fred,  who  seemed  anxious  to  drop  the  subject. 
"  Let's  hurry  up  and  pitch  into  football." 

The  two  boys  made  haste  to  the  ball  field,  where 
they  played  vigorously  until  dark. 

When  Fred  Newton  went  home  that  evening  he 
found  the  parlor  empty  and  a  fine  big  fire  blazing  cheer- 
ily in  the  grate,  before  which  he  stretched  himself  at 


ilE 


;4  NEVER-DYING    WORDS 

full  Icngt'  upon  the  soft  rug.  Ho  liad  not  been  there 
very  long  before  such  a  babel  of  voices  filled  the  room 
that  at  first  he  was  fairly  bewildered  ;  but  after  a  liule  it 
seemed  to  him  that  lie  could  distinguish  wiiat  some  of 
the  voices  were  saying,  and  not  only  tlial.  but  ihey  all 
sounded  strangely  like  his  own.  So  he  raised  his  head, 
and  listened  eagerly  to  see  if  lie  could  find  out  what  it 
all  meant. 

Presently  he  heard  what  he  felt  perfectly  sure  was 
his  own  voice,  answering  somebody  in  the  most  dis- 
agreeable of  tones  thus:  "  No,  1  won't  do  anything  of 
tlie  kind!  Who  was  your  servant  last  year,  miss?" 
It  gave  him  a  very  uiuomlbrtable  twinge  of  con  cience 
to  remember  that  he  had  said  lliose  words  to  his  sweet 
little  sister  Edith  only  last  week,  when  she  asked  him  to 
carry  a  small  parcel  to  one  of  her  friends.  ( )f  course, 
to  do  so  would  have  taken  him  a  good  deal  out  ot  his 
way  just  then,  but  he  need  not  have  given  ht'r  such  a 
cross  answer  at  all  events. 

Next  he  heard  the  words  of  a  slang  verse,  which 
brought  up  in  his  mind  the  poor,  harmless,  crii)ple(l. 
old  colored  man,  who  sometimes  came  begging  to  his 
father's  door,  and  whose  life  the  boys  made  miserable 
by  their  cruel  teasing.  Somehow  or  other  the  words 
did  not  seem  (p'ite  so  funny  as  Fred  heard  them  now  ; 
and  if  his  cheek.>  did  not  redden  a  bit  it  was  only  be- 
cause they  were  already  glowing  with  the  heat  of  the 

fire. 

Then  this  sentence,  uttered  in  a  very  sulky,  willful 
tone,  fell  on  his  ear  :   "Mean  old  thing  !     Won't  let  a 


been  there 

il  llic  room 
tcr  a  liule  it 
luit  some  of 
hut  ihey  all 
L'll  his  head, 
I  out  what  it 

tly  sure  was 
e  most  dis- 
anything  of 
ear,  miss?  " 
f  con  rience 
to  his  sweet 
isked  him  to 
( )f  course, 
al  out  of  his 
1  ht'r  such  a 

verse,  wliich 
>ss.  criijjiled, 
■gj^ing  to  liis 
de  miserable 
er  the  words 
:1  tliem  now  ; 
was  only  he- 
heat  of  the 

sulky,  willful 
Won't  let  a 


NEVER-DYINU    WORDS 


7S 


fellow  have  any  fun."  It  was  what  he  had  said  under 
his  breath  when  his  father  had  firmly  forbidden  him  to 
go  out  at  night  with  Frank  Rudolph,  Ned  Jones,  and 
the  oiner  boys  whose  fathers  were  not  so  particular. 
Fred  coiddn't  help  a  little  start  for  fear  his  father 
might  possibly  be  in  the  room  now  and  overhear  his 
son's  undutiful  speech  alter  all. 

"Who  wants  to  go  to  Sunday-s<  hool?  I've  had 
enough  of  Sunday-school,"  said  the  familiar  voice 
again  ;  and  this  time  it  brought  up  the  pic  ture  of  his 
mother's  sad,  shocked  face  when  he  had  blurted  out 
those  very  words  last  Sunday,  almost  before  he  knew  it. 

So,  it  went  on  until  it  seemed  as  if  every  hard, 
naughty,  unkind  word  that  I'red  Newton  :iad  ever  said 
was  pulsating  through  the  air  of  thai  parlor— white  lies 
and  black  lies,  cutting  things  said  before  people's  faces 
and  cruel  things  said  behind  their  backs— and  every  one 
of  them  seemed  to  have  a  sting  in  it.  just  as  if  they 
were  a  swarm  of  hornets,  so  that  i)oor  F>ed  was  fairly 
writhing  in  mental  agony,  when  suddenly  another  voice, 
this  time  not  his  own,  but  his  beloved  mother's,  over- 
powered all  the  others  as  it  called  out  cheerily  : 

"Why,  Fred  dearest,  what's  the  matter  with  you? 
You're  squirming  about  on  the  nig  like  an  eel  in  hot 
water.    You  shouldn't  go  to  sleep  so  near  the  fire." 

And  Fred,  springing  to  his  feet  with  a  cry  of  relief, 
threw  his  arms  around  his  mother's  neck  and  giving  her 
a  hug  worthy  of  a  young  bear,  while  the  tears  brimmed 
his  bright  eyes,  exclaimed  with  a  veh.enience  that  quite 
astonished  her : 


^  NIAKR-DYINU    WdRDS 

"  Mother  Uarliiin,    I'll    never   say    ;vn    unkind   word 


nguin 


I 


It  would,  of  rourse,  be  too  much  to  cxpc"  t  that 
Krcd  kc'i.i  ills  promise  to  the  very  letter  ;  hut  this  may 
he  said,  at  all  events,  thai  both  liis  temper  and  his 
tongue  w  -re  better  under  < ontrol  ever  alter. 


iikind   svoril 

fxptM  t  that 
ml  lliis  may 
per  and  his 


,? 


^f' 


ore 


^f^i 


iii;n  lie.  u-r 
M  a  (•  k  a  y  ,     ilic 
youngest  son  of    "  Hig 
Sandy,"  as  tlic  tbrciuan 
(if  (jne  of  Ilurtlinan  X: 
Mdorc's  liiin!icrin}4  sliaii- 
tics  was  generally  called, 
begged  to  he  allowed  to 
aci  onipany  his  father  to 
the  woods  for  the  win- 
ter's work,  Mr.  Mackay 
at   first  would    not   hear 
of  it  for  a  single  moment. 
Hector  was  his  favorite  son.  being  of  a  more  gentle, 
affectionate    nature   than    his    burly  brothers,    and    he 
feared  that  his  slight  frame  might  not  be  strong  enough 
to  withstand  the  rough  ami  arduous  life  of  the  shanty. 
Moreover,  of  the  four  boys.  Ihn  tor  alone  had  seemed 
to    follow    their    mother's    f.iilh  ;    and    although    T.ig 
Sandy  made  small  i>retentions  to  piety  himself,  he  had 
entire  respect  for  it  when  he  f(jund  it  sincere.      Hector's 
religion  was  as  genuine   as  it   was  unobtrusive.     The 
foreman  jiut  perlect  faith  in  his  son,  and  he  therefore 

77 


78 


IN   THE    FOREFRONT   OF   THE    FIRE 


shrank  from  exposing  his  spiritual  nature  to  the  coarse 
atmosphere  of  the  shanty,  just  as  he  did  from  risking 
his  dehcate  constitution  in  the  rude  camp. 

Yet  Hector  argued  him  out  of  both  objections,  and 
succeeded  in  winning  his  consent  to  his  gohv  back 
with  him  into  the  woods. 

"So  be  it  then,  my  laddie,"  waf.  the  foreman's  final 
word.  "  I  can' t  stai.'d  against  your  coaxing  any  longer. 
Since  ye  maun  go,  ye  may  go.  and  I  don't  mind  say- 
ing I'll  be  right  glad  of  your  company." 

(ilad  too  was  Hector  to  carry  his  point,  and  in  high 
spirits  he  said  "good-bye"  to  his  mother,  and  with 
his  clothes  and  some  books  packed  tightly  into  a  canvas 
bag,  constituting  his  whole  outfit,  took  his  i)lace  behind 
the  pair  of  stout  horses  that  would  bear  the  foreman 
and  himself  away  into  the  depths  of  the  lumber  district. 

Among  the  books  were  two  that  he  loved  dearly ; 
they  were  his  Bible  and  a  collection  of  Gospel  Hymns 
with  the  music.  Willi  the  contents  of  both  volurries  he 
was  more  familiar  than  many  boys  of  his  age  ;  and  the 
tliought  was  in  his  mind,  although  he  had  not  expressed 
it  to  his  father,  that  if  the  men  in  the  shanty  would 
only  listen  to  him,  he  would  like  very  much  to  read 
to  them  his  favorite  chapters  and  sing  to  them  his 
special  songs.  He  had  a  clear,  sweet  voice  that  was 
well  adapted  for  either  reading  or  singing,  and  he  de- 
lighted to  use  it  when  he  had  fitting  opportunity. 

The  winter  in  the  shanty  proved  to  be  quite  as  full  of 
hardship  as  Big  Sandy  had  anticipated  ;  but  it  did  not 
have  the  effect  upon  Hector  that  lie  had  apprehended. 


IRE 


IN    THE    ruREI'RO.NX    OF    THE    IIKIC 


79 


to  the  coarse 
from  risking 

jections,  and 
i  goinc  back 

reman' s  final 
g  any  longer, 
't  mind  say- 

,  and  in  high 
er,  and  with 
into  a  canvas 
])lace  behind 
the  foreman 
mber  district, 
oved  dearly ; 
ospel  Hymns 
h  volunies  he 
ige  ;  and  the 
not  expressed 
shanty  would 
nuch  to  read 
to  them  his 
nice  that  was 
f.  and  he  de- 
rtiinity. 
]uite  as  full  of 
)ut  it  did  not 
apprehended. 


On  tlic  contrary  the  plain  fare,  the  hard  bed,  and  the 
rough-and-ready  kind  of  life,  much  of  it  being  spent 
out  of  doors  breathing  the  cold,  pure  air  of  the  pine 
forest,  did  him  a  world  of  good.  He  grew  stouter  and 
stronger  every  week,  and  found  it  easy  to  pertorm  s.-Uis- 
factorily  the  various  light  tasks  assigned  him. 

Not  only  was  he  benefited  physically,  but  instead  of 
tlie  shantymen  exorcising  any  deteriorating  influence 
over  him,  he  had  not  been  among  them  a  week  before 
the  influence  was  manifestly  the  other  way.  \\  ithout 
his  having  to  say  a  word,  they  found  out  for  themselves 
that  oaths  hurt  him  like  l)lo\vs  ;  that  foul  stories  and 
songs  were  like  foul  smells  to  him  ;  and  that  if  they 
were  willing  to  refrain  from  their  bad  habits  for  his  sake, 
!io  was  even  more  willing  to  make  compensation  by  tell- 
ing them  stories  and  singing  them  liymns,  the  like  of 
whicli  had  never  been  heard  in  the  Black  River  shan- 
ties before. 

Thus  the  long  winter  passed  both  ])leasantly  and 
l)rofitably  for  Hector  ;  and,  as  the  result  of  the  shanty- 
men's  toil,  a  large  quantity  of  square  tin;ber  had  been 
gotten  out  to  be  floated  down  to  Quel) -f ,  It  was  a 
particularly  fine  lot  and,  prices  being  good,  the  foreman 
was  very  anxious  to  get  the  drive  safely  and  speedily 
out  into  the  broad,  deep  bosom  of  the  Ottawa.  .Ml 
hands  accordingly  had  been  working  very  hani,  and 
Hector  found  the  occupation  of  watching  them  and 
helping  as  he  could  intensely  interesting. 

The  men  had  good  reason  to  exert  themselves  to  the 
utmost ;  for  with    the    spring  had   come   a   prolonged 


8o 


IN    THE    FOREFRONT    OF   THE    FIRE 


droudit  which  gave  them  no  small  anxiety,  since  if  the 
rain  held  off  many  days  n.  ,re  the  water  in  the  nvers 
and  streams  would  get  so  low  as  to  "  stick  the  dnve,_ 
and  thus  "hang  up"  the  product  of  the>r  w.nter  s 
work  until  the  following  spring.  Instead  of  the  sorely 
needed  rain,  however,  there  wore  furious  gales  of  wmd, 
w  nch,  aided  by  the  sun,  made  the  great  forest  of  puie 
that  clothed  the  country  extremely  dry  and  ready  to 
flash  into  devouring  flame  at  the  slightest  provocation. 

\t  last  by  dint  of  unsparing  exertion  and  such  con- 
stant risking  of  life  in  running  rapids  and  breakmg  up 
.'iams"  as  only  "river  drivers"  know  of,  the  great 
army  of  ponderous  -sticks,"  each  one  from  twenty  to 
thirty  feet  in  length,  and  from  eighteen  inches  to  three 
feet  square,  had  been  brought  within  some  thirty  m.les 
of  the  Otawa.  Only  a  few  rapids  and  shoots,  jom.ng 
broad,  easy  stretches  of  deep  water,  had  yet  to  be 
reckoned  with,  and  then  the  worst  of  the  work  would 

>.  We're  doing  fine,  boys."  said  Big  Sandy  at  the 
camp-fire,  rubbing  his  horny  palms  together  gleefully. 
<  >  If  we  could  only  get  a  couple  of  days'  ram  now,  we  d 
iust  sail  along  the  rest  of  the  way."  ,    ,     .  .  , 

But  the  rain  seemed  as  far  away  as  ever  that  night 
The  sun  set  in  a  perfect  blaze  of  red,  and   the  wind 
blew  strong  and  steady  from  the  west. 

"Rain  long  way  ofT  still,"  said  Jean  Btn't.s  e,  the 
plnmp  cook  of  the  camp,  who  rather  pnded  himself 
upon  being  weather-wise.^  "  Dis  river  soon  dry  up; 
not  much  water  left  now." 


,  since  if  the 
in  the  rivers 
:  the  drive," 
heir  winter's 
of  the  sorely 
Tales  of  wind, 
forest  of  pine 
and  ready  to 
provocation, 
.nd  such  con- 
i  breaking  up 
of,  the  great 
rom  twenty  to 
nches  to  three 
lie  thirty  miles 
shoots,  joining 
ad  yet   to  be 
tie  work  would 

;  Sandy  at  the 
jther  gkvfuUy. 
rain  now,  we'd 

ver  that  night, 
and   the  wind 

n  Baptiste,  the 
prided  himself 
soon  dry  up  ; 


IN    THE    FOREFRONT   OK    THE    FIRK 


8  I 


"  Vou  dry  up  yourself,  Johnny,"  shouted  Hig  Sandy, 
throwing  a  bit  of  bark  at  him.  "  None  of  your  croak- 
ing here.  \'o\\  don't  know  any  more  al)out  it  than  tiic 
rest  of  us." 

"  Maybe  no  "  retorted  the  cook,  shaking  his  head 
knowingl)-.      "Hope  not,  anyway." 

The  days  that  followed  however.  (|uite  fulfilled  jean 
Haptiste's  forecast.  Not  a  drop  (jf  rain  fell,  and  the 
eagerly  desired  freshet  sliowed  no  signs  of  coming  to 
tJie  lumbermen's  assistance. 

"  It's  no  use  trying  to  get  through  with  this  amount 
of  water,"  Sandy  announced  some  evenings  later. 
"  I'll,  have  to  go  back  to  Manitou  dam  and  let  out  the 
reserve.      I  reckon  that  will  carry  us  through  all  right." 

No  sooner  had  he  spoken  than  Hector  piped  u\^ 
with  the  recjuest,  "  May  I  go  too,  fatlier  ?  " 

''  You'll  be  only  in  the  way,  but  I'll  not  say  ye 
nay,"  was  the  somewliat  rough  response. 

"Oh,  I'll  helj)  all  lean,"  responded  Hector  cheer- 
fully. 

Accordingly  the  next  morning,  taking  fourteen  of  tlie 
gang  with  him,  and  a  long  swift  canoe  called  a  "  racer," 
the  foreman  went  back  up  tlie  Manitou  to  the  reserve 
dam.  This  had  been  built  without  a  waste  gate  ;  and 
consecpiently,  in  order  to  let  the  water  out,  it  was  nec- 
essary to  throw  aside  the  stones  and  cut  away  tlie  logs 
and  sheeting  ;  a  job  that  gave  all  hands  some  five  hours 
of  hard  work,  during  which  they  hardly  looked  about 
them. 

In  the  meantime   the  wind    rose,  and   before  tluir 

F 


w 


82  IN    THE    FOREFRONT    OF   THE    FIRE 

work  was  finished  it  was  blowing  a  regular  gale      The 
sun  had  been  shining  brightly  all  the  morning,  but  sue  •■ 
denly  a  dark   c:U>ud  appeared  in  the  west   and  sw.fUy 
sped  across  the  sky  until  it  had  obscured  the  sun,  .md 
attracted  the  attention  of  Hector,  who  at  once  called 
to  his  father  to  ask  its  meaning.      At  the  same  nuMuen 
a  long,  low,  rumbling  sound  like  distant  thunder,  but 
as  continuous  as  the   rushing   of  a  long  expn  .s  ttnn. 
over   an   iron   bridge,    made  itself  heard,   ana  wUb.  a 
shout  of  alarm,  Big  Sandy  called  out  to  the  men  : 

-rhe  timber's  afire,  and  the  wind's  .1own.g  th.s 
way  !  We  must  make  the  lake  before  the  fire  reaches 
us,  or  we're  done  for."  , 

Instantly  there  was  a  stampede  for  the  ...ioe,  mto 
which  the  men  tund)led  peii-mell,  and  tw.,  uunutes 
later  the  racer  was  darting  through  .h.  water  at  the 
bidding  of  fifteen  strong  pairs  of  anns. 

.'  Paddle  for  your  lives,  boys  !  "  shout.d  H.g  Sandy, 
making  his  stout  steersman's  bind,  bend  M  .very  stroke, 
while  the  stalwart  men  put  tu.  r  ,vhole  strength  mto 
their  work,  s.M.dhig  the  long  canoe  shootmg  hke  an 
arrow  thro,..^  ^e  foaming  stream,  now  swollen  .>y  the 
,ddition  of  th.-  ^serve  water.  In  the  bow  crouched 
Hector,  r-  s  k.epmg  an  eye  ahead  so  as  to  g.ve  warn- 
ing  of  rocks  and  shallows,  now  glancing  anxiously  b,.- 
hind  at  the  awful  pursuer. 

They  had  a  long  stretch  of  narrow  nver  to  pass 
through,  where  to  be  caught  by  the  fire  meant  certmn 
death  from  falhng  trees  or  scorching  flame  ere  they 
could  get  ouv  upon  the  broad  lake,  which  offered  then- 


U 

•'^*.. 


IBE 

r  gale      The 
ing,  but  sud- 
t   and  swiftly 
the  sun,  and 
t  once  called 
■;amo  moment 
thunder,  but 
ex\'''^s  train 
,    and  with,  a 
he  men  : 
i  Mowing  this 
lie  fire  reaches 

lie  i.uioe.  into 
two  minutes 
water  at  the 

[f-A '  Hig  Sandy, 
>*  ..very  stroke, 
»  strength  into 
lOofiVAg  like  an 
swollen  !>y  the 
;  bow  crouvhed 
as  to  give  Watn- 
g  anxiously  b.i- 

w   river   to   pass 

e  meant  certain 

flame  ere   they 

ich  offered  their 


IN    THE    FOREFRdNT    OF   THE    FIRE 


83 


only  chance  of  esca\)e.  Not  a  word  was  sjioken  save 
by  Sandy  who,  from  time  to  time  called  out  encour- 
agingly to  the  straining,  sweating  paddlers  : 

"That's  the  way  to  do  it,  boys  ;  give  it  to  her  for 
all  you'  re  worth  !     Keep  that  uj),  and  we'  11  be  all  right. ' ' 

Above  their  heads  towered  a  black,  appalling  arch  of 
smoke,  borne  by  the  blast  in  advance  of  the  llames, 
out  of  whose  sable  bosom  fiery  flakes  of  moss,  or  glow- 
ing fragments  of  wood  were  fLilling  like  Tartarean  hail. 
As  the  canoe  shot  down  the  stream  it  was  accompanied 
along  the  banks  by  an  affrighted  throng  of  bears, 
wolves,  lynxes,  foxes,  and  deer  ;  all  their  mutual  fear 
or  ferocity  being  forgotten  in  the  general  panic  at  the 
red  terror  which  followed  so  fast. 

"It's  mighty  rough  that  we  haven't  got  time  to  get 
some  of  those  skins,"  said  Tom  Martin,  with  a  longing 
look  at  two  splendid  black  bears  which  were  well  in  the 
van  of  the  hurrying  herd  ;  for  Tom  was  a  trapper  as 
well  as  a  shantyman,  and  he  now  saw  more  good  dol- 
lars' worth  of  fur  than  had  greeted  his  eyes  for  years 
past. 

"We'd  better  make  sure  of  saving  our  own  skins 
first,"  retorted  Big  Sandy  grimly.  "Paddle  away 
there  and  never  mind  the  bears." 

The  scene  as  the  swift  canoe  tore  along  was  magnifi- 
cent and  terrible  beyond  all  description.  The  flames 
curled  fiercely  over  the  tops  of  pines  that  towered  full 
a  hundred  feet  into  the  air,  and  great  billows  of  smoke 
in  marvelous  shades  ot  blue,  black,  purple,  and  blood- 
r^d  rolled  up  to  th .  sky.     The  wind  came  in  hot  gusts, 


84  IN    THE   FOREFRONT   OF  THE   FIRE 

Striking  the  water  with  a  force  that  scourged  it  into 
vaporous  spray,  through  the  midst  of  which  the  racer 
sped  her  arrowy  course. 

^  The  men  were  perfectly  silent  now,  the  only  vo.ce 
being  Big  Sandy's,  as  he  from  time  to  time  urged  on 
their  paddling.  The  stream  widened  as  -t  approached 
the  lake,  and  Hector  no  longer  found  it  necessary  to 
keep  a  lookout  for  dangers  ahead.  Keheved  from  tins 
duty  he  was  now  kneeling  in  the  bow  praymg  fervently 
forlheir  preservation  from  che  awful  death  that  threat- 
ened. Observing  what  he  was  doing,  his  father  called 
out  in  a  tone  of  warm  approval  : 

-That's  right,  my  laddie;  s>c  never  needed  jouv 
prayers  more.  I  promise  you  I'll  be  a  better  man  .f 
we  get  out  of  this  alive." 

From  the  countenames  of  the  men  it  was  clear  that 
'he  foreman  ^^  s  not  alone  in  welcoming  Hector's  ap- 
peal for  Divine  assistance.  The  thought  evidently 
cheered  them  all,  and  when,  a  minute  later,  he  turned 
.round  and  in  a  strong,  sweet  voice  began  to  smg, 
■"  Nearer,  my  Cod,  to  Thee,"  the  effect  upon  them 
was  to  revive  their  waning  energies  and  to  put  .res.^ 
force  into  their  straining  strokes. 

On  they  rushed  through  the  foaming  water,  while 
Hector  sang  that  beautiful  hymn.  The  fire  ...s  ever 
coming  closer  as  they  drew  nearer  to  their  goal  of  safety. 
As  they  came  to  where  the  stream  lost  itself  in  the  lake, 
a  great  wall  of  flame  seemed  to  bar  their  further  pro- 
gress Hector  was  the  first  to  notice  it.  He  at  once 
;topped  singing  and  betook  h.mself  again  to  prayer. 


^*»\\ 


RE 

rged  it  into 
:h  the  racer 

e  only  voice 
me  urged  on 
t  apiiroachcd 
necessary  to 
red  from  this 
jing  fervently 
1  that  threat- 
;  father  called 

needed  jouv 
better  man  if 

was  clear  that 
Hector's  ap- 

ight  evidently 
ter,  he  turned 
)egan  to  sing, 
ct  upon  them 
J  to  put  fresh 

y  water,  while 
:  fire  was  ever 
r  goal  of  safety. 
;elf  in  the  lake, 
eir  further  pro- 
.  He  at  once 
gain  to  prayer. 


IN    THE    FOREFRONT    OF    THE    FIRE 


85 


Big  Sandy  saw  it  then,  and  ejaculating,  "  Lord  help  us  ; 
we're  surrounded  !  "  shouted  to  the  men  :  "  Lay  on  to 
it  now,  boys  !  Drive  her  !  Drive  her  !  We've  got  to 
go  through  it  I  " 

'I'hey  grasped  their  paddles  for  a  supreme  effort", 
bending  their  heads  low  to  shield  llieni  from  the  burn- 
ing blast,  and  straight  at  the  flames  they  cliarged.  The 
hot  tongues  of  fire  were  almost  touching  them,  when  a 
mighty  blast  of  wind  parted  them  to  right  and  left, 
and  through  the  opening  thus  providentially  made  the 
canoe  darted  out  into  the  lake  where,  by  turning  off  to 
the  south,  the  pursuing  flames  were  entirely  avoided, 
and  they  could  rest  upon  their  paddles  while  they 
breathed  the  pure  air  untainted  by  the  smoke  of  the 
conflagration. 

The  moment  the  paddles  paused  in  their  work,  Hec 
tor  began  to  sing, 

"Prciso  (lod  from  whom  all  blessings  flow." 

After  a  little  hesitation  his  father  joined  in,  and  one 
by  one  the  other  men  who  knew  the  grand  old  do.xology 
lent  their  voices  until  the  anthem  of  praise  rang  out 
over  the  lake,  opposing  its  glorious  music  to  the  roaring 
of  the  relentless  flames. 

When  the  singing  ceased.  Big  Sandy  heaved  a  heavy 
sigh,  and  wiping  his  dripping  forehead,  said  in  a  voire 
whose  sincerity  there  was  no  (piestioning  : 

"I've  not  been  the  man  I  ought  to  have  been  ;  but, 
God  helping  me,  I'll  try  to  be  a  better  one  from  this 
day  out." 


— ^^■^""•■p^ 


IN    THE    FOREFRONT    OF   THE    FIRE 

He  kept  his  resolution  too,  and  Hector  and  his 
mother  soon  had  the  happiness  of  having  hin.  join  them 
in  the  religious  exercises  they  so  greatly  enjoyed  and 
of  seeing  Imn  l.e.ome  an  active  worker  for  the  l-ord 
and  exerting  for  him  the  great  inttucnce  he  possessed 
among  the  lumbermen  of  the  region. 


tor  and  his 
iin  join  them 
.'iijoyed,  and 
)r  die  l-ord, 
he  possessed 


It,*. 


-fe^'- 


U'  W  •  f(j 


'^.s;i!t:i'i;.A 


OHN  DENNIS 
was  by  nature  one 
of  those  l)oys  wlio  are 
easily  misunderstood,  and 
as  he  grew  in   years,   al- 
.  though  he  often  had  ex- 
periences whi(  h  l)rought 
■  this  fact  i)ainful.y  hone  to 
him,  he  made  little  efort 
^  to  overcome    the  disadvan- 

tage under  which  he  was  thereby  pla(  ed. 

He  certainly  could  not  be  called  prepossessing  at 
first  acquaintance.  Gaunt  and  angidar  of  form,  sallow 
and  freckled  of  fiice,  his  hair  sparse  and  straggling- 
there  seemed  nothing  about  him  to  attract  one's  atten- 
tion, unless  it  were  his  awkwardness.  In  conversation 
one  was  sure  to  find  him  most  uninteresting.  Short 
and  almost  sullen  replies  were  all  he  would  vouchsafe  to 
(piestions,  and  the  conversation  woidd  come  to  an  end 
as  soon  as  one  ceased  making  advances,  for  he  would 
never  volunteer  anything  himself. 

87 


88 


BITTKN    IN    THE    IIF.KL 


'I'lio  fact  of  tlic  iiiatler  was,  lie  liad  conic  into  the 
work!  liandicapja'd  with  a  nature  lliat  pec  uliarly  needed 
tender  luvc  and  intelligent  sympathy  in  order  to  its 
right  expansion  and  development,  and  those  very  ele- 
ments had  been  especially  lacking  from  his  home  life. 
A  stern,  indifferent  father  and  a  mother  wiio  lavished 
all  her  love  and  priile  upon  his  elder  brother,  a  hand- 
some, bright,  high-spirited  boy  two  years  his  senior, 
left  him  as  much  as  possible  to  himself,  with  the  result 
that  his  shy  reserve  deei)ened  and  his  taciturnity  in- 
tensified with  the  passing  of  '.he  years. 

Yet  all  the  time  within  hi  .  nirt  'here  stirred  a  spirit 
for  whose  possession  no  one  gave  him  credit,  a  spirit  of 
revolt  against  the  fetters  that  so  sorely  hampered  his 
life,  and  of  burning  ambition  to  perform  some  action 
whose  heroic  ciuality  would  reveal  him  in  an  altogether 
new  light,  and  prove  to  other  people  that  he  was  made 
of  better  stuff  than  they  imagined. 

"  It  isn't  fair,"  he  cried  bitterly  to  himself  one  day, 
after  his  mother,  annoyed  at  his  irresponsive  silence  in 
the  presence  of  some  visitors,  had  been  instituting  hu- 
miliating comjiarisons  with  his  brother  I'" rank,  whose  en- 
gaging ease  of  manner  certainly  made  him  very  attract- 
ive. "I'm  not  built  like  Frank,  but  I  can't  help  it. 
I'm  just  what  (lod  made  me.  We  can't  all  be  the 
same.  If  they'd  only  leave  me  alone  !  Hut  it's  no 
use  ;  I  can't  talk  and  smile  and  play  the  gentleman  for 
everybody,  and  so  they  think  I'm  no  good  for  any- 
thinrr" 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  as  the  full  misery  of  his 


ne  into  tlu' 
arly  needed 
jrdcr  to  its 
sc  very  ele- 

liDine  life. 
1k)  lavislied 
ler,  a  liaiid- 

liis  senior, 
h  I  lie  result 
;  iturnity  in- 

irred  a  spirit 
t,  a  spirit  of 
impered  his 
some  action 
.n  altogether 
le  was  made 

elf  one  day, 
,e  silence  in 
stitnting  hu- 
k,  whose  en- 
very  attract- 
in' t  help  it. 
t  all  be  the 
Hut  it's  no 
.Mitlcman  for 
)od   for  any- 

iTiisery  of  his 


BITTEN    IN    THE    FIEKI. 


«9 


position  swept  over  his  soul  like  a  great  wave.  I  lu  ii 
he  straightened  himself  ii]),  an  unwonted  fire  llashinj;  in 
his  gray  eyes  ;  lie  <  lenciied  iiis  freckled  fi^ls  together 
and  lifting  a  determined  face  toward  the  sky,  evlainied: 

"  1  don't  (are  i  it's  not  going  to  he  always  like  this." 
.Some  day  I'll  have  the  chanic  to  show  them  that  I'm 
not  the  duffel  th  y  i  am,  and  then " 

He  left  .lenreiKc   unfinished,  and  went  off  with 

long,  swift  sicps  toward  the  hill  pasture  where  he  had  a 
secluded  nook  of  his  own  in  which  he  spent  manv 
hours  with  n-)  other  companion  than  his  dog  ()s(  .ir.  a 
fnie  Irish  setter,  given  to  him  as  a  pup  by  an  urn  le  who 
took  ])ity  on  his  evident  loneliness. 

in  all  the  world,  Oscar  alone  seemed  to  thoroughly 
believe  in  and  understand  him.  His  great  bmwn  eyes 
held  more  love  and  faith  than  poor  John  met  anywhere 
else,  and  every  curly  hair  of  the  beautiful  creature  was 
precious  to  him.  It  always  comforted  his  heart  to  have 
a  good  talk  with  Oscar,  for,  although  the  dog  could  say 
nothing,  he  looked  volumes,  and  John  felt  sure  of  his 
heartfelt  sympathy. 

Dusk  was  gathering  the  scattered  shadows  into  one 
before  the  boy  and  dog  made  their  way  back  to  the 
farmhouse.  Oscar  went  off  to  his  kennel  beside  the 
barn,  and  John  was  about  to  go  to  his  room  when  he 
became  aware  that  the  household  was  in  an  unusual 
state  of  turmoil.  His  mother's  voice  could  be  heard 
from  her  room,  giving  orders  in  a  tone  of  almost  frantic 
excitement,  and  the  servants  were  rushing  about  in  a 
bewildered  way,  as   if  they  did    not   know  what  to  do 


HITTF.N    IN    THE    HEEL 

With  themselves.    One  of  them,  .atching  si^hl  of  John, 

called  out :  , 

'•  Here  ho  is.  Mrs.   lKm,is  ;  hf's  just  come  in. 
Inunccli.tcly  his  ...other  .ailed  to  him  :   "  John,  < ome 

here,  instantly  !"  .   .  ■ 

Verymu.h  startle.l.  John  hastened  .nto  the  room 
Mis  brother  lay  -l^nM  the  bed.  luok-ng  Kl>astly  wh.te  ...ui 
fai.U.  evidently  from  the  loss  of  blood,  fo.  the  whUe 
<...„nter,.ane  had  a  great  dark  stain  ..,.on  .t  whcr.  ns 
right  thigh  pressed  into  it.  Mrs.  Dennis  was  s.lt.ng  be- 
side hi,.,  with  both  hands  .:las,.ed  t.ghtl)  abort  Im  kg 

just  above  the  woi.nd.  ...  ;„ 

^.  Have  you  come  at  last?"  she  ex.:la..ned.  more  .n 
anger  than  re,roach.  "  And  yo..r  brother  dy.ng  here 
furneed  of  a  doctor.^  You're  never  to  be  to.,nd  when 
you're  .nost  wanted." 

John  made  no  reply.  He  had  no  idea  of  ue  end.ng 
hiinself.  He  could  think  of  nothing  but  b.s  brother 
lying  there  bleeding  to  death. 

''  .\re  you  both  blind  and  dumb^"  shneked  Mrs. 
Dennis  in  her  excite.nent.  "  Don't  you  see  what's  to 
be  done?  The  doctor  m,.st  be  fetched  at  once  and 
father's  got  the  horse  away  with  him.  Ku.i  w.th  all 
your  might  to  the  village  and  bring  Dr.  Henderson 
back      There's  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

John  needed  not  another  word.  He  was  in  h.s  bare 
feet ;  the  village  of  h:imvale  was  h.U  tw  miles  distant, 
and  darkness  would  be  upon  him  before  ..e  got  half  way 
there  But  he  cared  not  for  these  things.  '1  he  oppor- 
tunity so  long  hoped  for  had   co.ne.      He  would  now 


j/hi  of  John, 

)nic  ill." 
'John,  (ome 


0  [hv  room 
,tly  white  and 
or  the  white 

1  it  whcrt.    his 
vas  silting  be- 
about  his  leg 

ned,  more  in 
er  dying  here 
)e  found  when 

I  of  defending 
it  bis  brother 

shrieked  Mrs. 
1  see  what's  to 
1  at  once,  and 
Run  with   all 
)r.    Henderson 

was  in  his  bare 

miles  distant, 

..e  got  half  way 

gs.    The  oppor- 

He  would  now 


--^r-'^o^t'n^v^Smf.-' 


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Collection  de 
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Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


'  'Hfe^#fefei!TJgk^v.  ■a^Ma^«Sit'B^^ai!!tS'a^!^''!gg^tJJ^^ 


BllTEN    IN    THE    HEEL 


91 


show  them  all  that  he  was  no  booby,  that  he  could  be 
of  service  as  well  as  anybody  else  when  he  had  tlie 
chance. 

Darting  out  of  the  door  he  called  to  Oscar  as  he  shot 
past  the  barn,  and  in  a  minute  they  had  both  dis- 
appeared toward  the  village. 

While  his  bare  feet  pattered  over  the  dusty  road, 
John's  mind  was  busy  considering  how  he  could  shorten 
the  way  to  Elmvale.  In  order  to  avoid  a  troubleson-.e 
elevation  known  as  Rattlesnake  Bluff,  the  highway  made 
a  wide  detour.  Some  of  the  residents  were  accus- 
tomed to  use  a  rude  path  that  skirted  the  other  side  of 
the  bluff,  and  shortened  the  distance  fully  a  (luarter  of 
a  mile.  John  knew  this  path  perfectly,  and  the  (pies- 
tion  was,  whether  to  take  it  now  or  to  go  around  by  the 
road.  There  were  two  serious  objections  to  it  :  the 
danger  of  tripping  over  a  rock  in  the  gloom  and  getting 
a  nasty  fall  and,  still  worse,  the  peril  of  a  snake  bite. 
for  the  bluff  deserved  its  name  although  the  rattkrs 
were  few  and  far  between. 

Not  until  he  reached  the  spot  where  the  path 
branched  off  did  John  decide.  Then  yielding  to 
sudden  impulse  he  left  the  main  road,  and  with  a 
scarcely  slackened  speed  hastened  along  the  short  cut 
that  was  barely  discernible  in  the  dim  light.  At  every 
step  he  expected  to  hear  the  horrible  rattle  that  would 
speak  of  deadly  danger  ;  yet  he  kept  steadfastly  on. 
Oscar  followed  close  at  his  heels.  He  had  almost  dr- 
cled  the  bluff,  and  in  another  minute  would  have  been 
out  upon  the  meadow  on  the  other  side,  free  from  all 


.■t-iu'Hn  '.- "  '-9;-"' 


92 


BITTEN    IN    THE    HEEI. 


risk  of  harm,  wlicn  suddenly  Oscar  sniffed  suspi -iously, 
and  then  gave  a  warning  hark.  Ahnost  at  the  same  in- 
stant a  fiene  rattle  broke  the  slill  evening  air,  and  a 
sickening  musty  txlor  befouled  its  sweetness. 

With  a  cry  of  alarm  John  sprang  high  into  the  air, 
for  right  in  the  path  lay  a  dark  shape  whose  awful  char- 
racter  had  already  been  revealed  both  by  sound  and 
scent.  The  leap  was  a  good  one,  but  did  not  foil  the 
rejjtile.  As  (piick  as  a  lightning  stroke  it  shot  out  its 
hideous  head,  and  he  felt  a  sharp  sting  in  his  left  heel. 

With  what  marvelous  (piickness  the  mind  will  act  ! 
The  instant  after  the  bite  John's  course  of  action  was 
decided  upon.  Throwing  himself  dow^n,  he  caught  his 
heel  and  pressed  it  in  his  mouth,  sucking  fiercely  at 
the  wound,  and  spitting  out  the  blood  that  issued  from 
it.  Then,  opening  the  sharpest  blade  of  his  pocket 
knife,  he  cut  out  the  flesh  completely  around  the  bite 
and  put  the  gai)ing  wound  thus  made  to  his  mouth. 
Next  he  whipped  out  his  handkerchief,  bound  it  around 
his  foot  as  best  he  could,  and  saying  to  himself, 
"There,  now,  I  guess  that'll  stay  fixed  until  I  get 
to  the  doctor's,"  ran  off  again  with  hardly  abated 
speed,  although  every  movement  of  his  left  foot  sent  a 
pang  of  agony  straight  to  his  heart. 

He  still  had  nearly  a  mile  to  go,  but  happily  it  was 
along  the  smooth  main  road  all  the  way.  Little  by 
httle,  in  sjiite  of  all  his  resolution,  his  pace  slackened, 
for  the  loss  of  blood  and  the  pain  told  severely  upon 
him.  ^'et  he  doggedly  kept  on,  every  few  yards  mut- 
tering through  his  clenched  teeth  : 


1  siispi  iously, 
t  the  same  iii- 
ng  air,  and  a 
;ss. 

I  into  the  air, 
se  awful  char- 
)y  sound  and 
I  not  foil  the 
it  shot  out  its 
1  his  left  heel, 
iiind  will  act  ! 
of  action  was 
he  caught  his 
ng  fiercely  at 
at  issued  from 
of  his  pocket 
•ound  the  bite 
to  his  mouth. 
)und  it  around 
g  to  himself, 
d  until  I  get 
hardly  abated 
left  foot  sent  a 

happily  it  was 

ly.      Little  by 

ace  slackened, 

severely  upon 

"ew  yards  mut- 


BITTEN    IN    THF.    HEEL 


m 


"I  won't  stop.  I  won't  give  in.  I'll  get  there  if  I 
die  for  it." 

The  darkness  deepened  about  him  until  tlie  dusty 
road  became  a  mere  ghostly  streak  through  its  center. 
No  sound  of  wheels  or  of  human  voices  broke  the  soft 
evening  silence.  He  seemed  to  be  utterly  alone,  al- 
though here  and  there  he  could  see  the  lights  Hashing 
from  the  windows  of  the  farmhouses  scattered  through 
the  wide-s]ireading  fields. 

Dr.  Henderson's  house  stood  in  the  outskirts  of 
Klmvale,  and  John's  shortest  course  was  by  a  back 
road  lying  at  right  angles  to  the  main  street.  Few 
people,  therefore,  observed  the  barefooted,  bareheaded 
boy  limjjing  hurriedly  along  and  muttering  to  himself 
as  though  he  might  be  drunk  or  demented.  No  one 
recognized  him  and  he  spoke  to  no  one. 

On  he  kept  in  spite  of  suffering,  weariness,  and  a 
strange  giddiness  that  made  him  stagger  at  times  almost 
to  falling.  He  was  in  the  doctor's  street  now.  He 
could  see  the  light  gleaming  from  the  surgery  window. 

"  Thank  God  I  he's  at  home  !  "  he  jianted. 

One  more  tremendous  effort  that  seemed  to  exhaust 
every  particle  of  strength  still  remaining,  and  he  reached 
the  steps  of  the  house  and  dragged  himself  up  by 
means  of  the  hand-rail,  jiushed  open  the  surgery  door 
without  waiting  to  ring,  and  then  collapsed  into  a  big 
arm-chair  with  a  husky  cry  of ; 

"  Home,  doctor,  please,  quick  !     Frank's  dying." 

Dr.  Henderson  had  been  writing  when  the  boy  thus 
burst  in  upon  him.      Springing  to  his  feet  he  called  out 


94 


BITTEN    IN    THE    HEEL 


to  the  servant  to  have  his  horse  gotten  ready  at  once, 
and  then,  turning  to  John,  said  in  a  kindly  tone  : 

"You're  done  out,  my  boy.  You've  had  a  hard 
run.  I  must  get  you  a  drink."  Then  his  quick  eye 
catching  sight  of  the  blood-stained  handkerchief  bound 
:;.out  the  heel,  he  exclaimed:  "But  svhafs  this? 
You've  hurt  your  foot.      Let  me  look  at  it." 

"  Rattlesnake  bit  me."  murmured  John,  in  a  scarcely 
audible  voice,  and  as  the  doctor  made  a  swift  move- 
ment toward  him,  his  powers  of  endurance  reached 
their  limit  and  he  fell  back  in  the  chair  in  a  dead  faint. 
With  skilled  alertness  Dr.  Henderson  tmbound  the 
heel,  gave  a  .vhistle  of  surprise  and  concern  when  he 
saw  the  wound,  and  without  wasting  a  moment,  pro- 
ceeded to  cleanse  it  thoroughly,  drench  it  with  a  strong 
antiseptic,  and  bind  it  up  in  clean  linen,  saying  as  he 

did  so  :  ■ 

"Most  extraordinary  thing!     The  boy's  a  regular 

hero  ;  and  he's  done  the  best  possible  thing  too." 

By'  the  time  the  bandaging  was  completed,  John's 
faintness  had  passed  away,  and  he  opened  his  eyes  with 
a  look  of  inquiry  that  turned  to  one  of  relief,  as  he  saw 
what  had  been  done  for  him. 

«'I  cut  it  out,  doctor,"  he  said,  adding  in  an  anx- 
ious tone,  "was  that  right?" 

"Right?  yes,  exactly."  replied  the  doctor  heartily, 
"  since  you  had  the  pluck  to  do  it.  You've  no  doubt 
saved  your  life.  Come,  now.  let  me  help  you  mto  my 
carriage  and  we'll  hurry  home." 

The  drive  back  was  like  a  dream  to  John.     He  tried 


=4,., 


BITTEN    IN    THE    HEEL 


95 


eady  at  once, 
ly  tone  : 
e  had  a  hard 
his  quick  eye 
:erchief  bound 

what's   this? 
it." 

n,  in  a  scarcely 
a  swift  move- 
rance  reached 
n  a  dead  faint. 
I  unbound  the 
ncern  when  he 

moment,  pro- 
it  with  a  strong 
1,  saying  as  he 

boy's  a  regular 
hing  too." 
npleted,  John's 
ed  his  eyes  with 
reUef,  as  he  saw- 
ling  in  an  anx- 

doctor  heartily, 
'ou've  no  doubt 
elp  you  into  my 

[ohn.     He  tried 


hard  to  answer  the  (juestions  put  to  him,  but  a  strange 
Hlu])or  obscured  hi:-  senses  and  he  could  not  make  the 
matter  very  clear.  When  they  arrived  at  tl.e  farm- 
house the  doctor  helped  him  out,  and  then  bidding  him 
lie  down  until  he  c(juld  see  him  again,  hastened  into 
the  room  where  Mrs.  Dennis,  still  holding  tightly  to  her 
son's  thigh  although  her  strength  was  well-nigh  gone, 
awaited  him  with  wild  anxiety. 

Happily  he  had  not  come  too  late.  The  cruel  gash, 
which  Frank  had  received  by  falling  into  a  mowing  ma- 
chine with  which  he  had  been  meddling,  was  deftly 
brought  undertreatment,  and  Mrs.  Dennis  who,  dread- 
ing lest  her  darling  should  bleed  to  death  had  been 
using  her  own  hands  as  a  ligature,  was  relieved  of  her 
trying  task.  The  moment  Frank  had  been  duly  band- 
aged the  doctor  turned  about,  saying  ; 

"  And  now  I  must  see  to  John.      Where  is  he  ?  " 

"John!"  cried  Mrs.  Dennis  in  a  tone  of  surprise 
not  unmingled  with  alarm.  "  Is  there  anything  the 
matter  with  him?  " 

"That  there  is,"  responded  Dr.  Henderson,  "some- 
thing very  serious  the  matter.    I  must  see  him  at  once." 

John  was  found  lying  upon  his  own  bed  in  a  con- 
dition more  of  the  nature  of  a  swoon  than  of  sleep. 

"He  must  be  aroused  at  once,"  said  the  doctor, 
"and  kept  awake  at  any  cost." 

Mrs.  Dennis  felt  inclined  to  rebel  against  attention 
being  thus  distracted  from  her  favorite  ;  but  the  doc- 
tor's tone  and  manner  were  not  to  be  gainsaid,  and  his 
directions  were  promptly  carried  out. 


96 


BITTEN    IN    TUK    MEET. 


The  rest  o(  the  story  is  easily  told.      John  recovered 
from   the   effc.  ts  of  the  bite   even  more  'l>.u:kly  than 
Frank  did  fr..n.  his  wound,  and  when  he  uune  ou  o    l,s 
roon.    auain    he    found    liimsolf  in  a    greatly  changed 
risph'erc.       Dr.    Henderson  had  told   of  h,s  hero.c 
acc<l  to  the  whole  country-side.      I'raise  of  the  shy,  re- 
served bov,  whom  so  many  esteemed  stu,.>d,  was  upon 
every  li,..'    Nowhere  was  the  alteration  of  feelmg  more 
marked  than  at  home.     'H^e  iatl.r   suddenly  reah.,ng 
that  John  had  •'  souK-thing  in  him  after  all,  '  showed  an 
interist  never  manifested  before;  the  -^he^-  g^^e^d 
for  the  service  he  had  rendered  an<l  remorseful  for    he 
neglect  of  the  past,  sought  to  make  reparation  by  be- 
t  nving   the   regard    hitherto    withheld  ;    whde   Hank, 
Xg  his  <:ue  iVom  them,  no  longer  treated  his  brother 
as  though  he  was  nothing  to  hmi. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  new  era  m  Jo.  n's  he,  and 
,Uhough,  of  course,  the  way  henceforth  was  not  by  any 
means  a  path  of  roses,  still  it  undoubtedly  proved  a 
^et  an  J  brighter  way  than  it  possibly  could  ^ave  been 
but  for  the  courage  and  resolution  shown  by  hnn  when 
he  took  the  short  cut  around  Ratdesnake  liluff. 


L 


Ilgjly^lji 


111  rc( 'ivercd 
luickly  than 
lie  out  of  his 
.Uly  (hanged 
jf  his  heroic 
f  the  shy,  re- 
iid,  was  upon 

feeling  more 
enly  reah/ing 
,"  showed  an 
jther.  grateful 
irseful  for  the 
aration  by  be- 

while  Frank, 
ed  his  brother 

o.-n's  Ufe,  and 
ivas  not  by  any 
;edly  i)roved  a 
3uld  'lave  been 
11  by  him  when 
e  Bluff. 


HAPPY  day  it  was  for  Eric  Stewart  and  his 

pale,  careworn  mother  when  tiie  welcome 

news  came  of  his  appointment  as 

page    in   the    Canadian 

^ .        House  of    Commons. 

*^  ■ 

5§((^.~  ,      Ever  since  Mr.  Stewart, 
who  was  a  ( lerk  in  the 

Civil  Service,  with  a  small  sal- 
ary which  gave  him  no  chance  to  save  anything,  died 
suddenly  two  years  before,  there  had  been  hard  times 
with  the  wife  and  little  son  he  left  behind  ;  but  by 
keeping  up  a  brave  heart  and  doing  whatever  suitable 
work  she  could  get,  Mrs.  Stewart  managed  to  ])rovide 
for  both  until  this  winter.  But  then,  just  as  the  cold 
became  intense  and  food  and  fuel  dearest,  her  health 
gave  way,  and  the  doctor  told  her  that  if  she  wanted 
to  live  much  longer  she  would  have  to  take  complete 
rest  for  at  least  three  months. 

Poor  Mrs.  Stewart  !  It  was  all  very  well  to  tell  her 
that  she  must  rest,  but  how  were  she  and  I'.ric  to  live  if 
she  could  earn  nothing?     Everything  looked  so  dark 

G  97 


98 


eric's  ordeal 


and  hopeless  that  only  her  faith  in  (lod  kept  hei  from 
utter  despair.     And  (lod  did  not  fail  her  in  this  trying 
time  ;  for  Mr.  Patterson,  a  member  of  parliament,  who 
had  been  a  good  friend  of  Kric's  father,  happening  to 
hear  uf  their  distress,  came  to  see  Mrs.  Stevart  and  of- 
fered to  use  his  influence  in  securing  the  position  of  page 
for  the  sturdy  little  lad.  whose  handsome  face  and  brave 
blue  eyes  made  everybody  like  him  at  once.      His  efforts 
happily  jiroved  successful,  and  when  the  note  came  an- 
nouncing Kric's  appointment  there  were  not  two  happier 
people  in  the  city  than  the  widow  and  her  boy.      .And 
oh.  how  proud  Kric  felt  days  afterward,  as  clad  in  his 
beautiful  dark-blue  suit,   all  studded  down   the  breast 
with  bright  silver  buttons,  and   looking   the  very  ideal 
of  a  page,  he  danced  about  his  mother's  room  full  of 
eagerness  to  be  off  to  the  Parliament  building  ! 

He  might  well  feel  proud  ;  for  was  he  not  to  earn  a 
whole  dollar  every  day  of  the  week,  even  Sundays  being 
counted,  for  the  next  three  months  at  least,  and  thus 
keep  a  sick  mother  in  comfort  all  through  the  long  win- 
ter she  had  dreaded  so  much  ? 

Of  course  it  would  be  hard  work  ;  Mr.  Patterson  had 
told  him  that.  He  would  have  to  be  on  duty  from  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning  until  six  in  the  evening,  or  from 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  until  midnight  or  later, 
day  and  day  about ;  which  arrangement  did  not  leave 
much  time  for  play.  But  Eric  made  up  his  mind  to 
this  and,  his  mother  having  taught  him  whatever  he  did 
to  do  it  with  all  his  might,  he  soon  became  the  favorite 
page  in  the  House,  not  merely  because  he  was  the  best 


eric's  ordeal 


99 


pt  hci  from 
1  tliis  trying 
aiuciit,  who 
iljpcning  to 
rart  and  of- 
tion  of  page 
e  and  brave 
His  efforts 
ite  came  an- 
two  happier 
boy.      And 
i  clad  in  his 
1  the  breast 
le  very  ideal 
room  full  of 
ng  ! 

lOt  to  earn  a 
indays  being 
St,  and  thus 
he  long  win- 

'atterson  had 
uty  from  ten 
ning,  or  from 
ight  or  later, 
lid  not  leave 
his  mind  to 
itever  he  did 
;  the  favorite 
was  the  best 


looking,  but   because   he  gave   his  whole  mind   to  his 
work  and  made  so  few  mistakes. 

I'arliamcnt  had  been  two  months  in  session  and  Kric 
was  beginning  to  get  very  tired  of  it,  for  tiie  sittings 
grew  longer  and  tiie  work  heavier  as  the  end  of  tlie  ses- 
sion drew  near,  when  one  night  Mr.  I'atterson,  who  had 
all  along  taken  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  him,  noticing 
how  pale  and  tired  the  poor  boy  looked  as  he  rested 
his  weary  little  legs  for  a  few  moments  at  tlie  bottom  of 
the  Speaker's  dais,  called  Kric  to  him,  intending  to  have 
a  little  talk  with  him.  Hut  as  l^ric  came  uj)  the  division 
bell  rang,  so,  drawing  a  fat  roll  of  crumpled  Ijills  from 
his  pouket,  Mr.  Patterson  hurriedly  picked  out  one  and, 
without  looking  at  it,  slijjped  it  into  the  boy's  hand, 
whispering  ; 

"Here,  my  lad,  is  a  dollar  for  you.  Run  and  get 
some  cake  and  coffee  from  Mother  Bunch,"  Mother 
Bunch  being  an  old  lady  who  was  allowed  to  keep  a 
little  coffee  stall  in  one  corner  of  the  great  porch. 

Kric  was  so  surprised  at  this  unexpected  gift  that  he 
did  not  look  at  the  bill  either,  but  stuffed  it  into  his 
pocket  while  saying  thanks,  and  then  the  next  moment 
he  was  called  off  somewhere  else  and  kept  so  busy  until 
the  House  rose  that  he  (juite  forgot  he  had  it.  When 
he  did  look  at  the  bill  what  was  his  astonishment  to  find 
that  instead  of  being  for  only  one  dollar  it  was  for  ten 
dollars  ! 

Of  course  his  first  thought  was  to  give  it  right  back  to 
Mr.  Patterson.  But  that  gentleman  had  already  gone 
home ;  so,  saying  to  himself  that  he  would  return  it  in 


100 


EKIC'S    ORDEAI. 


the  morning,  I'.ric  tniilgcd  off  to  liis  own  home  about 
as  weary  a  little  hul  as  there  was  in  all  that  city. 

IVrhaps  it  was  l)e<anse  he  felt  so  tired  out  that  the 
tempter  found  it  so  easy  to  get  into  his  thoughts.  Any- 
way,  he  diil  get  there,  and  this  was  what  he  said  as 
Kric  walked  slowly  honieward  : 

"  1  wouldn't  give  that  hill  ba.k  if  I  were  you,  Kric. 
How  do  you  know  he  didn't  mean  to  give  you  ten 
dollars  instead  of  only  one?  Members  often  do  give 
pages  as  mu.h  as  that.  Why,  Mr.  Wright  gave  Will 
Murray  that  mu(  h  only  the  other  day.  Ihit  even  if  he 
didn't  he'll  never  know  the  difference.  Just  see  what 
a  lot  of  money  he  had  all  crumpled  up  in  his  pocket, 
more  money  than  ever  your  mother  had  at  once  in  her 
Ufe.  And  he  is  so  ri(  h  too  !  Vou  would  better  keep 
the  money  for  yourself,  you  know.  Your  mother  gets 
all  your  wages,  and  it's  only  fair  you  should  have  some- 
thing too.  Just  think  of  the  number  of  things  you 
could  buy  with  ten  dollars  !" 

All  this,  and  more  too.  did  the  wily  tempter  whisper 
to  Eric,  for  although  nobody  could  see  him,  there  he 
was,  walking  beside  the  boy  the  whole  way  home.  And 
1  am  sorry  to  tell  that  I'.ric,  instead  of  saying  at  once, 
"(let  thee  behind  me,  Satan,"  let  him  talk  away  until 
at  last  he  actually  persuaded  him  to  go  off  to  bed  without 
s;iying  a  word  to  his  mother  on  the  subject.  His  con- 
science pricked  him  pretty  sharply  as  his  mother  bent 
over  him  with  a  good-night  kiss  and  a  blessing  on  her 
darling  boy.  and  again  at  fomily  prayer  next  morning, 
; ,  that  he  found  it  hard  work  to  keep  his  guilty  secret. 


r 


ERIC  S   ORDEAL 


lOI 


liomo  about 
city. 

Jilt  that  the 

yhts.     Any- 

hc   said  us 

c  you,  Krif. 
ivc  you  ten 
ftun  do  give 
ht  gave  Will 
it  even  if  he 
lust  see  what 
1  his  pocket, 
;  onre  in  her 
I'etter  keep 
mother  gets 
J  liave  some- 
f  things  you 

npter  whisper 
lim,  there  he 
home.  And 
ying  at  once, 
ilk  away  until 
o  bed  without 
ct.  His  con- 
mother  bent 
essing  on  her 
lext  morning, 
;  guilty  secret. 


15ut  keep  it  he  did.  and  all  through  the  next  day  too, 
although  every  time  he  lookeil  at  Mr.  Patterson  iiis 
(heel^>■  got  very  red  and  his  eyes  dowM(ast.  Ome 
Mr.  Patterson  beckoned  to  him  and  I'.tU'h  lieart 
thriii)bed  violently  with  tear  lest  tiie  mistake  had  been 
discovered.  Imt  his  kind  friend  only  asked  after  .Mrs. 
Stewart  and  hoped  she  was  getting  better,  'i'he  day 
seemeil  awt'iilly  long  to  V.iu\  and  many  a  time  he  heart- 
ily wished  he  had  never  seen  the  liateful  bill  whic  li 
was  now  hidden  away  securely  in  a  ( orner  of  his  <  luset 
at  home. 

When  Sunday  came  the  unhaiijjy  boy  felt  so  miser- 
able over  his  sin  that  he  would  have  been  giail  of  any 
excuse  to  stay  away  from  8imday-s(  hool  ;  but  ii(»  ex- 
cuse turned  up.  and  he  had  not  the  ( ourage  to  invent 
one.  As  it  happened,  the  lesson  for  that  day  was  the 
sad  story  of  Achan,  and  lyric's  tea(  her  spoke  \ery  ear- 
nestly to  his  boys  about  the  "accursed  thing."  I'.very 
word  he  said  went  right  to  wretched  little  l''.ric's  heart. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  lesson  was  just  for  him,  ami  for 
him  only,  and  it  was  such  a  relief  when  the  school 
(•losed  and  he  could  run  away  from  it ;  but  he  could 
not  run  away  from  his  guilty  conscien<  e.  That  went 
with  him  everywhere,  and  now  it  was  talking  to  him  a 
good  deal  more  plainly  than  the  tempter  had  talked 
on  Friday  night.  The  awful  words,  "accursed  thing, 
accursed  thing,"  rang  in  his  ears  and  repeated  them- 
selves over  and  over.  His  heart  was  as  heavy  as  lead, 
and  all  the  spring  had  gone  out  of  his  usually  jaunty 
step. 


102  eric's  ordeal 

His  mother  could  not  help  noticing  her  bo>  s  un- 
happiness,  and  not  knowing  the  cause  she  feared  he 
was  feeling  ill :  but  Eric  insisted  that  there  was  nothing 
the   matter  with   him.     At  last   he  could  stand  it  no 
longer.     It  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  kept  that  dreadful 
^en-dollar  bill  he  himself,  and  not  the  money,  would  be 
the  ' '  accursed  thing. "     So  it  came  about  that  as  m  the 
dusk  of  the  evening  he  was  sitting  with  his  mother  by 
the  fire  while  she  read  to  him  from  "  Pilgrim'ii  Progress," 
a  book  he  dearly  loved,  h-  greatly  surprised   her  by 
suddenly  bursting  into  tears  and  crying  bitterly  for  some 
time  without  being  able  to  speak.     When  he  did  find 
words  to  tell  his  mother  the  whole  story  she  was  crymg 
too   for  it  made  her  very  sad  to  know  that  her  little  boy 
should  have  yielded  to  the  tempter  and  fallen  mto  so 
arievous  sin.      But  in  spite  of  her  tears,  she  felt  so  glad 
that  Eric  had  confessed  his  wrong-doing  before  being 
forced  i.^  it  by  some  discovery.     They  had  a  long  talk 
together  that  night  and  Mrs.  Stewart  not  only  prayed 
herself  but  made  Eric  pray  also  to  God  for  his  forgive- 
ness     After  that  he  felt  somewhat  better,   and  then 
she  showed   him    that   he   must  tell  the   one   he  had 
deceived  all  about  it,  and  ?:.k  his  forgiveness. 

The  hardest  part  of  it  all  came  next  day,  when  Eric 
had  to  go  up  to  Mr.  Patterson  and  with  tear-stained  face 
and  sob-choked  voice  put  the  b'll  into  his  hands  and 
confess  how  wicked  he  had  been.  Much  to  his  rehef 
his  good  friend,  instead  of  blaming  him  severely,  listened 
to  the  vhole  story  very  kindly  and  attentively.  Not 
one  harsh  word  did  he  n.y,  but  he  asked  Eric  a  good 


ERIC  S   ORDEAL 


103 


g  her  boj  s  un- 
m  she  feared  he 
here  was  nothing 
)uld  stand  it  no 
:ept  that  dreadful 
money,  would  be 
out  that  as  in  the 
th  his  mother  by 
Igrim's  Progress," 
surprised   her  by 
y  bitterly  for  some 
Vhen  he  did  find 
•ry  she  was  crying 
that  her  httle  boy 
and  fallen  into  so 
rs,  she  felt  so  glad 
oing  before  being 
;y  had  a  long  talk 
t  not  only  prayed 
od  for  his  forgive- 
better,  and  then 
the   one   he  had 
giveness. 

;xt  day,  when  Eric 
th  tear-stained  face 
nto  his  hands  and 
Much  to  his  relief 
m  severely,  listened 
1  attentively.  Not 
asked  Eric  a  good 


many  questions,  and  something  bright  glistened  down 
his  cheek  more  than  once  as  the  poor  little  fellow  sobbed 
out  his  answers.  Before  Eric  left  Mr.  Patterson,  he  felt 
just  as  Pilgrim  did  when  that  cruel  burden  he  had  been 
bearing  rolled  off  his  back  and  he  could  make  so  much 
better  progress,  for  Mr.  Patterson,  after  giving  him  some 
sympathetic  words  of  advice,  had  granted  him  his  full 
forgiveness.  Then  all  Eric's  trouble  vanished,  and  he 
went  around  the  Parliament  buildings  on  the  hop-skip- 
and-jump,  just  to  give  vent  to  his  feelings  of  grate- 
ful relief.  Those  horrid  accusing  words,  "accuised 
thing,  accursed  thing,"  did  not  ring  in  his  ears  any 
longer. 

He  had  passed  through  the  ordeal  and  God  had 
helped  him  to  win  a  glorious  victory.  The  lesson  of  that 
ordeal  he  never  forgot.  Many  a  time  in  the  years  that 
followed,  when  temptations  beset  his  path,  did  those 
words,  "accursed  thing,  accursed  thing,"  come  up  in 
his  mind  and  the  memory  of  that  dreadful  feeling  of 
guilt  give  him  strength  to  promptly  turn  the  tempter 
out. 

Mr.  Patterson  took  especial  interest  in  him  after 
that  trying  confession,  and  as  Eric's  ch.-'.racter  grew  in 
strength,  he  placed  more  and  more  confidence  in  the 
boy.  He  gave  hir.i  a  place  in  his  immense  business  as 
office-boy,  and  in  time  advanced  him  to  the  position  of 
clerk  and  even  to  that  of  cashier.  And  finally  when 
Mr.  Patterson,  whose  friendship  had  never  firiled,  grow- 
ing old  and  weary  of  business,  offered  his  favorite  clerk 
a  partnership,  Eric  Stewart,  as  he  brought  the  glad  news 


I 


104 


ERIC  S    ORDEAL 


home  to  his  white-haired  mother  with  the  saintly  face, 
could  not  help  exclaiming,  while  tears  of  joy  ran  down 
his  face  : 

"Thank  God,  mother,  for  that  ten-dollar  bill  and  the 
less:."n  it  taught  me." 


1 

s 
I 


B 


i'81 


lintly  face, 
'  ran  down 

lill  and  the 


l'> 


Xa 


«^«& 
^-S? 


\. 


^ 


^4 


— y  NI.KSS  \vc  take  the  trouble   | 


to  study  closely  for  our-  .' 
selves  the  ways  and  manners  of  the 
furred  and  feathered  creatures  that 
help  so  much  to  make  our  world  at- 
tractive and  interesting,  we  are  apt 
to  have  the  idea  that  everything 
[  '        ■  ■  "  comes  natural  "  to  them,  that  they 

^ty'  do  not  have  to  learn  things  in  the  laborious  ways 
in  which  we  must.  But  a  delightful  paper  on  gray 
squirrels,  in  "  Harper's,"  tells  of  the  trouble  the  little 
jther  always  had  to  teach  her  tiny  youngs 
sters  to  run  fearlessly  along  the  tree  boughs 
-and  to  leap  from  limb  to  limb,  and 
'■  \  another  observer  describes  how 
birds  are  taaght  to  sing. 
It  seems  that  a  j)retty  little 
wren  built  a  nest  for  her- 
-V  self  on  a  New  Jer- 
" "  '  '     I  _    ,  '  sey  farm  in   such   a 

position  that  the  occupants  cf  the  liouse  could  watch 

los 


HI  o 


^ 


1 06 


STORIES   OF    ANIMALS    AND    BIRDS 


what  was  going  on  without  distiirl)ing  the  i)roceeJings. 
When  her  downy  brood  had  arrived  at  the  proper  age 
they  did  not  take  to  singing  of  their  own  accord,  so 
she  set  about  teaching  them.  I'lacing  herself  in  front 
of  them,  as  any  other  music-teacher  would,  she  sang 
her  whole  song  slowly  and  distinctly. 

One  of  the  little  fellows  immediately  attempted  to 
imitate  her,  but  after  getting  out  a  few  notes  its  voice 
broke,  and  it  lost  the  tune.     The  little  mother  there- 
upon  commenced  where  the  learner  had  failed,  and 
went   very   carefully   through    tlie     remainder.       The 
young  one  tried  again,  beginning  where  it  had  left  off, 
and  continuing  as  long  as  it  could,  and  v;hen  the  notes 
were  once  more  lost  the  mother  patiently  took  up  the 
tune  and  finished  it.     Then  the  other  resumed  where 
it  had  broken  down,  and  persevered,  until  in  its  turn  it 
reached  the  end.     This  accomplished,  the  motlier  sang 
over  the  whole  series  of  notes  from  the  start  with  great 
precision,  her  pupil  following  her  carefully,  and  so  they 
kept  it  up  until  the  little  thing  had  the  whole  song  by 
heart.     The  same  course  was  followed  with  the  other 
occupants  of  the  nest  until  each  one  of  them  had  be- 
come a  perfect  songster,  and  the  proud  mother's  task 
was  finished. 

The  same  point  is  illustrated  by  what  another  ob- 
server saw  on  the  seashore  one  summer  afternoon.  It 
was  a  lovely  day,  and  the  tide  was  genUy  making  its 
way  up  the  beach,  sending  glistening  wavelets  on  ahead 
that  advanced  and  retired  with  musical  murmurings. 


STORIES   OF   ANIMALS    AND    BIRDS 


107 


irocceJings. 

proper  age 

accord,  so 

self  in  front 

d,  she  sang 

ttempted  to 
ites  its  voice 
other  there- 
failed,  and 
der.       The 
had  left  off, 
>n  the  notes 
took  up  the 
Limed  where 
in  its  turn  it 
motlier  sang 
rt  with  great 
and  so  they 
hole  song  by 
di  the  other 
hem  had  be- 
lother's  task 


another  ob- 
"ternoon.  It 
y  making  its 
lets  on  ahead 

murmurings. 


Presently  a  party  of  callow  ducklings  came  waddling 
soberly  into  sight.  They  were  evidently  very  young, 
but  they  had  a  mind  for  a  swim,  and  made  no  doubt  of 
being  able  to  enjoy  it  on  a  body  of  water  so  large  and 
tempting  as  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

With  all  the  dignity  of  ducks  this  party  went  down 
the  beach.  'Ihey  were  in  no  haste.  The  whole  after- 
noon was  before  them  ;  the  sun  was  warm  ;  they  had 
just  had  dinner  ;  and  they  were  ready  to  enjoy  them- 
selves. Just  as  they  reached  the  water,  a  gentle  wave 
ran  in,  lifted  the  pretty  yellow  birdlings  off  their  feet, 
carried  them  all  fiir  up  the  sand,  and  then  as  suddenly 
retreated,  leaving  them  there  high  and  dry  wliile  it  re- 
joined the  sea. 

The  ducklings,  not  a  whit  disconcerted  by  this  shabby 
joke  of  old  Neptune,  gathered  themselves  together  and 
again  started  down  the  beach  in  good  order.  Again 
the  saucy  wavelets  came  up  to  meet  them,  and  again 
they  were  carefidly  set  down  far  up  the  shore. 

Were  they  discouraged  by  this,  or  did  they  go  off  in 
a  huff  at  the  ocean's  aggravating  behavior?  Not  a  bit 
of  it  !  They  wanted  a  swim  and  a  swim  they  would 
have.  So  once  more  they  made  the  attemjjt,  just  as 
dignified,  just  as  amiable,  just  as  earnest  about  it  as  if 
they  had  not  hitherto  been  provokingly  thwarted.  Of 
course  they  met  the  same  fate,  but  as  long  as  the  ob- 
server had  time  to  watch  them,  this  amusing  game  went 
on  ;  the  wavelets  carrying  the  ducklings  back,  and  the 
ducklings  renewing  the  charge  patiently  and  persistently 
during  the  long  lovely  afternoon. 


io8 


STORIES    OF    ANIMALS    AND    BIRDS 


What  a  wonderful  thing  is  the  sense  of  play  in  the 
lower  animals  !  How  dose  it  sometimes  seems  to 
bring  their  intelligence  to  ours  !  I  love  to  watch  two 
dogs  playing  chase  on  a  wide  lawn.  Surely  no  two 
boys,  however  bright  they  might  be,  could  put  more 
spirit  into  the  performance  or  get  more  pure  fun  out  of 
it.  Especially  interesting  to  them  is  the  very  thing  that 
children  so  enjoy,  that  is,  the  "make-believe."  Why, 
a  couple  of  clever  spaniels  will,  if  not  disturbed,  keep 
this'  up  for  an  hour  at  a  time,  as  cleverly  aii  it  could  be 
done  in  any  nursery. 

A  remarkable  instance  of  humor  is  related  by  Mr. 
Crosse,  the  distinguished  naturalist.  His  study  window 
commanded  a  view  of  a  court-yard  which  was  sheltered 
by  high  walls  and  remote  from  noises  or  disturbance  of 
any  kind.  Hapi)ening  to  look  out  one  day,  he  saw  a  large 
robin  engaged  in  dragging  the  apparently  dead  body  of 
another  robin  round  and  round  in  a  circle  on  the  pave- 
ment. It  looked  as  though  the  live  robin  had  fought  a 
duel  (i  outrance  with  the  other,  and  having  come  off 
victorious  was  indulging  in  the  cruel  triumph  of  pulling 
the  lifeless  body  of  its  vancpiished  rival  over  the  stones, 
as  Achilles  dragged  Hector  around  the  walls  of  Troy. 
But  just  as  Mr.  Crosse  had  worked  out  this  reasonable 
conclusion,  the  live  robin  suddenly  stopped  and  threw 
itself  upon  its  back  as  though  stark  dead.  Its  wings 
were  half  distended  an  \  rigid,  and  its  legs  upturned  to 
the  sky.  Never,  to  all  sejming,  had  there  been  a  robin 
more  dead  than  it  was.  Meanwhile  the  other  robin 
went  through  an  exactly  converse  transformation.     It 


teiteaMt!g»j.Uj.i!''ilJ.''^ 


X 


STORIFii   OF    ANIMAI,S    AND    HIRPS 


109 


play  in  the 
i   seems   to 

wall  h  two 
ely  no  two 

])ut  more 
e  fun  out  of 
y  thing  that 
e. '  •  Why, 
irbed,  keep 
it  could  be 

ted  by  Mr. 
idy  window 
as  sheltered 
turbance  of 
t;  saw  a  large 
t;ad  body  of 
)n  the  pave- 
lad  fought  a 
ig  come  off 
h  of  pulling 
r  the  stones, 
Us  of  Troy. 
s  reasonable 
d  and  threw 
Its  wings 
upturned  to 
jeen  a  robin 
other  robin 
mation.     It 


had  been  only  shamming  dead,  a.id  now  woke  into  full 
and  vigorous  life.  Seizing  on  its  feathered  playmate,  it 
dragged  the  latter  in  its  turn  all  around  the  same  (ircle, 
and  re|)eated  the  process  several  times.  Kin  .Uy  both 
actors  flew  off  together  to  a  neighboring  tree,  no  doubt 
to  rest  themselves  after  their  fatiguing  game. 

Now  were  not  those  robins  clever  little  fellows? 
Who  could  blame  tiiem  for  having  what  the  Scotch  call 
a  "  gude  conceit  o'  themselves,"  when  they  were 
capable  of  getting  uj)  such  an  elaborate  bit  of  make- 
believe  as  Mr.  Crosse  was  lucky  enough  to  witness  ? 

Backwoodsmen,  who  have  the  best  possible  oppor- 
tunities for  studying  the  ways  and  manners  of  the  wild 
creatures  of  the  wilderness,  tell  us  that  the  more 
carefully  we  observe  them  the  more  human-like  we  will 
find  them  to  be. 

One  who  has  spent  many  years  among  the  forests  of 
Ontario  avers  that  he  has  seen  bear  babies  play,  tum- 
ble, laugh,  and  cry,  just  as  our  own  children  do,  and 
that  sometimes  a  whole  bear  family  would  greet  his  eyes 
as  they  walked  soberly  along  together,  precisely  like  a 
family  of  people  going  to  church. 

Ihe  same  authority  assures  us  that  "Brer  Bar" 
does  not  hesitate  to  scold  in  the  most  natural  way  pos- 
sible when  his  feelings  are  tried  over-much.  An  old 
chap  that  he  suddenly  encountered  in  a  blueberry  patch 
on  a  rock,  at  once  made  for  the  other  side  in  great  haste, 
and  treading  in  some  loose  moss,  lost  his  footing  and 
fell  over  d  cliff  nearly  twenty  feet  high,  landing  with  a 


X 


I  lO 


STORIES   OF    ANIMALS    AND    niRDS 


bumj)  on  tlie  hard  stones  below.  As  he  got  up  t;j  con- 
tinue his  flight  his  tone  and  remarks  sounded  decidedly 
ill-humored  and  emphatic. 

Another  time  this  observer  met  a  year-old  bear  in 
the  height  of  the  mosipiito  season.  He  was  walking  on 
three  legs  and  using  his  spare  paw  to  rub  his  itching 
nose,  all  the  while  giving  utterance  to  his  opinions  on 
the  mosipiito  plague  with  a  force  and  fervor  worthy  of 
an  army  mule  driver  with  his  team  hopelessly  mired. 

Some  time  ago  a  big  bear  took  possession  of  a  de- 
serted railway  camp  at  Scjuaw  Hill  and  held  the  fort  for 
three  years,  in  spite  of  being  often  fired  at  by  men  pass- 
ing on  hand-cars  or  lorries.  One  evening  a  French- 
Canadian  cook  was  crossing  a  trestle  bridge  not  far  from 
bruin's  castle,  vWien  he  was  heard  shouting  by  those 
behind:  "  Clet  away  !  Get  back  !  (let  off  !  "  His 
companions  hurried  and  found  him  on  the  center  of  the 
trestle  beating  two  tin  plates  like  cymbals  and  dancing 
like  a  dervish.  At  the  other  end  of  the  bridge  ap- 
peared the  cause  of  his  excitement,  a  huge  bear  coming 
at  him,  stepping  steadily  from  tie  to  tie. 

But  for  the  timely  arrival  of  reinforcements,  the  con- 
se(piences  of  the  meeting  might  have  proved  serious  for 
Jean  Baptiste.  As  it  was,  Mr.  Bruin  decided  that  dis- 
cretion was  the  better  part  of  valor,  and  with  a  cross 
remark  effected  a  reluctant  retreat. 


A  more  thrilling  encounter  was  that  which  took  place 
between  the  heroic  wife  of  a  habitant  farmer  in  Argen- 
teuil  County,  Quebec,  and  an  enormous  bear  in  the 


STORtES    OF    ANrMAr.S    AND    niRHS 


ITI 


t  up  t;>  con- 
d  decidedly 

old  bear  in 
i  walking  on 
i  his  itching 
opinions  on 
or  worthy  of 
>ly  mired, 
ion  of  a  de- 
I  the  fort  foi 
)y  men  pass- 
g  a  French- 
not  far  from 
ng  by  those 
off!"  His 
center  of  the 
and  dancing 
;  bridge  ap- 
bear  coming 

tits,  the  con- 
d  serious  for 
ded  that  dis- 
with  a  cross 


:h  took  place 
er  in  Argen- 
bear  in  the 


early  part  of  winter  not  many  years  ago.  Bears  had 
been  very  i)lcntifiil  in  the  locality,  no  less  than  ten 
having  been  killed  by  a  single  hnnter  in  a  week. 

One  Satiirilay  Madame  i.eblanc,  of  La  (lare,  was 
haiiging^oiit  some  clothes  in  the  yard  behind  the  house. 
Her  baby  was  in  its  cradle  playing  hapi)ily  with  toys, 
while  another  child,  a  boy  eight  years  old,  sat  upon 
the  doorstep  watching  his  mother.  'I'he  father  had 
gone  off  to  the  woods.  S  ddenly  the  boy  rushed 
toward  his  mother,  crying,  "A  big  dog  is  coming  into 
the  house." 

Madame  Leblanc  turned  her  head  in  time  to  see  a 
big  befir  disappear  through  the  door. 

Bidding  her  son  run  up  the  ladder  into  the  granary 
and  thus  got  out  of  danger,  the  brave  woman  seized  an 
axe  and  dashed  into  the  house  to  face  the  intruder, 
now  almost  ujjon  the  cradle.  'I'he  great  creature  was 
bleeding  from  the  shoulder,  as  if  already  wounded,  and 
was  in  a  fit  humor  to  fight.  Rising  upon  its  hind  legs 
it  reared  for  battle,  and  a  desperate  struggle  ensued, 
the  woman  wielding  the  keen  axe  w-ith  marvelous  skill 
and  inflicting  woimd  after  wound.  During  the  conflict 
the  cradle  was  overturned,  and  the  terrified  baby  thrown 
almost  under  the  bear's  paws.  But  before  any  harm 
could  be  done  to  the  little  thing,  the  eight-year-old  boy 
showed  that  he  had  I'is  mother's  spirit  by  snatching  up 
the  infant  and  carrying  it  off  up  in  the  granary. 

Soon  the  infuriated  beast  struck  the  axe  out  of  his 
antagonist's  hand  with  one  fierce  blow,  and  with  an- 
other felled  her  to  the  ground.     Another  moment  and 


113 


ST(1RIE.S   OF    ANIMAIS    AND    lURDS 


he  would  have  torn  her  to  pieces.  Happily,  however, 
her  frantic,  cries  had  been  heard  by  lier  husband,  who 
was  returning  home  accompanied  by  two  powerful 
bulldogs.  'I'he  dogs  readied  the  scene  first,  and  hurl- 
ing themselves  upon  tiie  bear  made  him  forget  his  in- 
tended victim  until  Monsieur  I.eblanc  api)eared  with 
his  gun  and  disposed  of  him  by  a  well-aimed  bullet. 

On  examining  the  creatiire's  carcass  it  was  found 
that  madame's  axe  had  bitten  deep  in  no  less  than 
fifteen  places. 

There  was  great  excitement  at  the  farm  of  Mr.  Ciower 
Price,  in  Nortliumberland  country.  New  Ikunswick, 
one  fine  March  morning  ;  for,  while  pitching  down  hay 
to  the  hungry  cattle,  Mr.  I'rice  had  made  a  discovery 
the  like  of  which  had  certainly  never  been  known  in 
tht:  country-side  before.  The  mow  was  a  big  one,  and 
the  part  he  attacked  that  morning  had  not  previously 
been  disturbed,  and  there,  right  in  the  heart  of  the 
hay,  curled  up  as  snugly  as  possible  and  sleeping  the 
sleep  begun  at  the  beginning  of  the  winter,  lay  a  fine 
black  bear. 

To  say  that  the  worthy  farmer  was  surprised  would 
hardly  do  justice  to  his  feelings.  To  the  finding  of  rats 
and  mice  in  his  mows  he  was  (juite  accustomed,  and  he 
knew  how  to  deal  with  such  unbidden  guests.  But  a 
bear  presented  an  altogether  different  problem,  and  not 
feeling  ccpial  to  solving  it  unaided,  he  called  in  the 
assistance  of  his  neighbors.  The  news  of  the  wonder 
quickly  spread,  and  soon  the  spacious  barn  was  filled 


)S 


STORIES    OF    ANIMALS    AND    niROS 


'13 


y,  however, 
isbarnl,  who 
vo  powerful 
it,  ami  luirl- 
)rgcl  his  in- 
l)earccl  with 
•d  bullet. 
L  was  found 
no  less  than 


if  Mr.  (lower 
•  Hrunswick, 
ng  down  hay 
L"  a  discovery 
;n  known  in 
big  one,  and 
ot  previously 
heart  of  the 
sleeping  the 
er,  lay  a  fine 

rprised  would 
inding  of  rats 
)med,  and  he 
lests.  But  a 
)lem,  and  not 
called  in  the 
>f  the  wonder 
am  was  filled 


with  eager  visitors,  who  very  gingerly  approached  the 
mow  and  took  a  peep  at  this  novel  "sleeping  beauty." 
'I'hen,  of  course,  they  pnu  ceded  to  advise  Mr.  I'rice. 

Some  said,  "Shoot  him  before  he  wakes  u|). " 
Others,  of  a  more  adventurous  sjiirit,  said:  "No; 
that's  not  sport.  Set  the  dogs  on  him,  and  let  us  have 
some  fun."  Hut  a  shrewd  old  hunter,  who  knew  the 
value  of  a  live  bear  in  the  market,  gave  belter  ( ounsel 
still.  "  lie  won't  wake  up  for  another  fortnight,"  he 
said,  "and  before  then  I'll  come  over  and  tie  him  uj) 
with  ropes,  so  that  he  can't  hurt  himself  or  any  one 
else.  Then  we'll  put  him  in  a  cage,  and  when  he's  in 
condition  again  he'll  sell  for  a  good  sum." 

This  was  what  Mr.  I'rice  did.  When  "  Hrer  Bar," 
as  Uncle  Remus  would  call  him,  awoke  out  of  his  long 
nap,  it  was  to  find  himself  bound  beyond  all  possibility 
of  breaking  free,  and  two  months  later,  looking  his  very 
best,  after  being  well  fed  and  cared  for,  he  was  sent  to 
the  United  States,  where,  perhai)s,  at  this  moment  he 
is  one  of  the  chief  attractions  of  some  menagerie. 

An  organ  grinder  who  was  traveling  through  the  West 
of  England,  accompanied  by  a  tame  brown  bear,  whi(  h 
he  had  trained  to  dance,  stopped  at  a  farmhouse  late 
one  afternoon,  and  after  greatly  amusing  the  family  by 
his  performance — for  his  organ  was  a  fine  one.  and  the 
bear  very  docile  and  intelligent — he  had  no  difificulty  in 
obtaining  permission  to  stay  all  night.  He  himself  was 
given  a  bed  in  the  boys'  room,  but  his  furry  companion 
had  to  be  content  with  a  snug  corner  in  the  barn. 

H 


114         snmrEs  of  animm-s  and  nmns 

\  little  alter  midniglU  there  .a.uc  sik  h  alarming 
n..ises  fn.m  the  barn,  whi.^h  was  only  a  few  paces  away, 
as  t(.  awaken  evcrl....ly  in  the  house.  Kranti.  shrieks  ol 
"Help'  Help!!  Murder  !!"  and  sounds  as  of  a 
strong  man  struyglinn  desperately  for  dear  life,  issued 
upon  the  still  ni^ht  air, 

Murriedlv  drawing  on  some  .lothes.  the  farmer 
snat.hed  up  a  lantern  and.  followed  by  the  organ 
grin.ler.  hastened  to  the  barn.  On  the  d..ors  bemg 
thrown  oi.en.  the  rays  of  the  lantern  revealed  a  large 
man  engaged  in  a  furii.us  wrestling  mat.  h  with  the  bear, 
from  whose  mighty  embra<  e  he  was  vainly  endeavoring 
to  escape.  As  the  bear  was  inuz/led  and  had  no  .laws 
to  speak  of.  his  victim  stood  in  no  great  danger  of 
serious  injury,  but  his  position  was  alarming  enough 
notwithstanding,  and  he  implored  the  farmer  to  come 

t(.  his  rescue.  _ 

Divining,  however,  that  this  midnight  visitor  s  mis- 
sion was  a  dishonest  one,  for  whi.h  he  .leserved  to  be 
well  punished,  the  organ-grinder  called  out  to  his  pet, 
"  Hug  him.  Jack  !  hug  him  !  '•  and  the  bear,  evidently 
enjoying  the  sport,  continued  to  s.pieeze  the  man 
unmercifully,  until  the  farmer,  thinking  the  rogue  had 
suffered  sufficiently,  got  the  bear's  owner  to  command 

liis  release. 

It  turned  out  that  bruin's  captive  was  a  rascally 
butcher  who  had  come  to  steal  a  fine  calf.  In  the 
darkness  he  stumbled  over  the  bear,  and  was  at  once 
made  prisoner.  The  farmer  was  so  delighted  at  the 
animal's  conduct  that  in  the  morning  he  feasted  him 


(li  aliirniing 
paces  away, 
ti(  sluicks  1)1' 
uls  as  of  a 
r  lilc,  issued 

the  farmer 
y  the  organ 
doors  being 
ealed  a  large 
vitli  the  liear, 
'  endeavoring 
had  no  daws 
at  danger  of 
niing  enough 
rnier  to  come 

visitor's  mis- 
leserved  to  be 
:)Ut  to  his  pet, 
lear,  evidently 
;c/e  the  man 
the  rogue  had 
r  to  comiTiand 

was  a  rascally 
:  calf.  In  the 
ul  was  at  once 
.'lighted  at  the 
he  feasted  him 


SrORII-S   OF   ANIMALS   AND    niRDS 


>'5 


Upon   the   best   in   tlic   ianlcr,   anil  gave  his  master  a 
sovereign  as  he  was  leaving. 

botiie  men  engaged  in  lobster  fishing  on  the  Irish  coast 
were  witnesses  of  a  struggle,  the  like  of  which  perhaps 
is  i\()t  on  record.  As  they  rowed  along  the  shore  their 
ears  caught  sounds  of  battle  coming  fron\  the  top  of  a 
steep  hill,  at  whose  base  they  floated,  and  they  <t)uld 
not  at  first  make  out  the  ( haracter  oi  the  combatants, 
until  presently  the  frantic  sipiealing  of  a  cat  made  the 
case  plain  to  them. 

A  prowling  cat,  out  bird-himting  maybe,  had  lieen 
hunted  in  turn  by  a  big  eagle,  and  was  now  battling  for 
its  life. 

A  moment  later  the  eagle  rose  into  the  air  holding 
the  cat  fast  in  its  talons,  although  the  featliers  fell  from 
its  breast  in  a  way  that  showed  the  fight  was  far  from 
being  one-sided.  I'p,  up,  up,  soared  the  coml^atants, 
the  caterwauling  of  pussy  and  the  scattering  of  the 
plumage  contiiniing  until  the  two  creatures  were  but 
one  dim  speck  in  the  sky.  Just  at  that  moment  they 
parted  company,  and  instantly  the  cat  came  shooting 
down  through  the  still  air  with  frightfid  velocity,  now 
gathered  up  into  a  ball,  then  stretched  out  at  full  lei  gth. 
The  eagle  followed  much  more  slowly,  its  outspread 
pinions  serving  to  buoy  it  uj),  although  it  apparently 
made  no  effort  to  use  them. 

Determined  to  see  the  i  nd  of  the  strange  affair,  the 
fishermen  landed  and  hastened  to  the  top  of  the  hill. 
There  they  found  the  eagle  dead,  with  its  breast  so 


T 


I  16  STORIES   OF    ANIMAU5   AND    BIRDS 

terribly  torn  by  pussy's  ,>itiless  daws  that  the  very 
bones  were  exposed.  But  the  cat,  where  was  she? 
Not  a  sign  of  her  could  be  discovered  ;  not  even  any- 
thing to  indicate  the  spot  where  she  struck  after  her 
fearful  fall.  She  had  shown  herself  more  than  a  match 
for  the  king  of  birds,  and  she  may  have  survived  a 
tumble  that  would  certainly  have  killed  any  other 
creature  without  wings. 

Divers  meet  many  curious  things  when  down  below, 
and  have  many  startling  experiences  too.     The  boy  who 
longs  to  be  a  diver  would  probably  be  quite  cured  of 
his  notion  by  just  ten  minutes  of  what  divers  sometimes 
have  to  see  and  do.      Covered  with  copper,  rubber,  and 
li^ad,  until  one  weighs  more  than  two  ordinary  men, 
down  he  goes  into  the  shadowy  recesses  of  the  deep, 
where  he  remains  for  perhaps,  hours  at  a  time.     In  the 
northern  waters  the  horrible  octopus  lies  darkly  in  wait 
for  him,  ready  .t  the  first  opportunity  to  encircle  him 
with  its  long,  clammy  tentacles,  whose  strength  almost 
surpasses  belief;    and   farther  south   the   shark  draws 
dangerously  near  ;   while  in  all  waters  fish  large  and 
small  gather  around  him  in  curious,  excited  throngs, 
ofttimes  fillii  g  him  with  apprehension  lest  some  of  them 
should  take  a  fancy  to  nip  at  the  air  tube  upon  which 
his  life  depends. 

A  thrilling  struggle  between  two  divers  and  a  devil- 
fish, or  octopus,  of  great  size  took  place  in  the  harbor 
of  Vancouver,  British  Columbia.  The  big  main  by 
which  the  city  is  supplied  with  water  from  the  eternal 


W'^!*i»jm:pv.-t»i!if&i0ti:i^f^3f^y:f*^'^'^ 


r 


^~B^r4'f^'^T•^^^.Sf^• 


BIRDS 

!S  that  the  very 
where  was  she? 
J  ;  not  even  any- 
1  struck  after  her 
lore  than  a  match 
have  survived  a 
killed    any  other 


^hen  down  below, 
)o.     The  boy  who 
be  quite  cured  of 
t  divers  sometimes 
apper,  rubber,  and 
wo  ordinary  men, 
esses  of  the  deep, 
at  a  time.     In  the 
lies  darkly  in  wait 
ity  to  encircle  him 
)se  strength  almost 
1   the   shark  draws 
ers  fish  large  and 
5,  excited  throngs, 
n  lest  some  of  them 
r  tube  upon  which 

divers  and  a  devil- 
lace  in  the  harbor 
The  big  main  by 
;r  from  the  eternal 


STORIES   OF    ANIMALS   AND    BIRDS 


ii; 


snows  of  the  Coast  Range,  crosses  the  narrows  at  the 
mouth  of  the  harbor,  and  the  steamer  "Abyssinian," 
coming  in  heavily  laden  at  low  tide,  struck  this  main  with 
her  propeller,  breaking  the  pipe  in  two.  Two  expert 
divers  named  Llewelyn  and  Hardy  were  directed  to 
make  tho  necessary  repairs.  On  reaching  the  bottom 
in  their  diving  suits  th^y  were  considerably  startled  to 
find  a  huge  octopus  lying  directly  over  the  break  in  the 
pipe.  Its  dreadful  tentacles  were  extended  in  all  di- 
rections, and  through  the  clear,  cold  water  its  eyes 
could  be  seen  glowing  with  horrible  malignity  from 
among  the  folds  of  its  shapeless  body. 

Determined  not  to  be  daunted,  even  by  so  fearful  a 
monster,  tiie  divers  advanced  to  the  attack,  the  one 
armed  with  a  long  crow-bar,  the  other  with  a  heavy 
hammer.  Reaching  out  its  snake-like  tentacles,  the 
devil-fish  sought  to  enfold  the  daring  n^en,  but  the 
slippery  diving  suits  prevented  it  from  getting  a  good 
hold,  and  they  broke  away  from  its  repulsive  grasp 
without  much  difficulty. 

Emboldened  by  this  they  pushed  to  close  quarters 
and  dealt  blow  after  blow  at  the  hideous  creature,  while 
it  writhed  and  struggled  and,  without  yielding  ground, 
endeavored  to  enwrap  its  plucky  assailants  in  its  deadly 
embrace.  The  strange  fight  continued  until  at  length 
Hardy  ma:  Tcd  to  get  near  enough  to  jjlunge  his  crow- 
bar right  in  the  center  of  tne  infiiriated  monster  and  to 
repeat  the  thrust  again  and  again.  The  struggle  soon 
ceased,  and  in  a  few  minutes  it  was  merely  an  inert 
mass  of  ugliness. 


• 


ii8 


STORIES    (IF    ANlMAIi^    AND    RIRDS 


Rctumir.g  to  their  boat  for  a  rope,  the  divers    nade 
(\ist  the   carcass  and  towed  it  up  to  the  city.      On  ex- 
amination it  was  found  that  the  body  of  tlie  devil-fish 
was  as  large  as  a  big  washtid),  and  not  less  than  two 
hundred  and  fifty  i)ounds  in  weight,  while  the  tentacles 
ranged  in  length  from  ten  to  thirty  feet.     The  stomach 
was  full  offish  and  crabs  and  the  remains  of  shell  fish. 
I'he  divers,  naturally,  were  the  heroes  of  the  hour  and 
had  good  reason  to  congratulate  themselves  upon  hav- 
ing come  so  brilliantly  out  of  their  battle  with  one  of 
the  most  appalling  inhabitants  of  the  sea. 


V.  i 


4 


ivers  :iade 
( )n  ex- 
e  devil-fish 
is  than  two 
le  tentacles 
he  stomach 
f  shell  fish, 
e  hour  and 
ui)on  hav- 
vvith  one  of 


.'j^jwwiiHiUJP^,''.* 


^1^  HAD  a  good  many  pots  in  iny  boyhood 
days,  bill  none  of  them  ever  filled  the 
place  in  my  heart  that  Bright-eyes  did. 
It  was  (piite  by  accident  that  I  came 
across  him.     I  had  gone  with  my  father 
to  market,  and  while  he  was  busy  buy- 
ing  berries  and   vegetables  from    the 
market  women,  my  roving  eyes  caught 
3'    sight  of  something  that  at  first  ooked 
like  a  brown  rat  in  a  cage  held  by  a  countryman  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street.     Of  course  I  hurried  over  to 
see  what  it  was.  and  much  to  my  delight  it  proved  *o 
be  a  becutiful  red  squirrel,  with  a  pair  of  the  brightest, 
prettiest  eyes  in  the  world,  and  a  tail  that  was  simply 
superb.,     'the  countryir an  seeing  my  interest,  asked  me 
if  I  didn't  went  to  buy  the  scpiirrel.      "  He  is  perfectly 
tame,"   he  spid,  and  opening  the  door,  little  bushy-tail 
immediately  sprang  out,  and  running  up  on  the  man's 
shoi'lder,  looked  down  on  me  so  roguishly  that  I  felt  as 
though  I  must  own  him.      Just  then  my  fiither  came 
along,  and  I  begged  him  to  buy  the  scpiirrel  for  me. 

119 


120 


BRIGHT-EVES 


"  Tut-tut ! "  he  objected  ;  "what  do  you  want  with 
a  squirrel  ?     You  would  get  tired  of  it  in  a  week." 

"Indeed  I  wouldn't,"  pleaded  I  earnestly.  "Just 
see  what  a  beauty  he  is,  and  ho\v  cute  !  No  fear  of  my 
getting  tired  of  him." 

We  were  right  in  front  of  the  countryman  now,  and 
the  squirrel,  as  if  understanding  what  I  had  said, 
looked  full  at  me,  and  the  next  moment  sprang  fear- 
lessly upon  my  shoulder,  whence  he  cjuickly  scrambled 
down  into  my  coat  pocket,  where  1  happened  to  have 
a  bit  of  apple. 

This  settled  the  matter.  Yielding  to  my  entreaties, 
my  father  paid  the  price  asked,  and  presently  I  was 
trudging  homeward  the  happiest  boy  in  all  the  town, 
carrying  my  prize  in  the  cage,  which  had  been  pur- 
chased with  him.  Thus  little  Bright-eyes,  as  he  was  at 
once  named,  became  an  inmate  of  our  household, 
where  he  gave  us  great  delight  and  amusement  for 
many  months. 

It  IS  a  very  rare  thing  for  a  red  squirrel  to  become 
thoroughly  tame,  and  we  were  correspondingly  proud 
of  our  pet.  The  secret  of  his  perfect  fearlessness 
was  that  he  belonged  to  a  litter  of  baby  stpiirrcls 
which  had  been  found  by  a  farmer's  son  in  an  old 
tree,  and  taken  into  che  house,  \Yhere  they  were 
brought  up  in  the  constant  presence  of  people,  and 
consequently  lost  all  fear  of  them.  At  first  we  kept 
him  most  of  the  dme  in  his  cage,  but  little  by  little 
he  was  allowed  greater  liberty,  until  after  a  while  he 
really  spent  more  time  running  at  large  than  shut  up. 


LI  want  with 
week." 
tly.      "Just 
)  fear  of  my 

n  now,  and 
[  had  said, 
sprang  fear- 
y  scrambled 
led  to  have 

I  entreaties, 
ently  I  was 

II  the  town, 
[  been  piir- 
as  he  was  at 

household, 
usement  for 

;1  to  become 
Hngly  proud 

fearlessness 
iby  squirrels 
n  in  an  old 
;   they   were 

people,  and 
irst  we  kept 
ttle  by  little 
r  a  while  he 
n  shut  up. 


BRIGHT-EYES 


121 


He  had  just  come  to  his  full  growth  and  was  in 
perfect  condition,  his  fur  being  as  smooth  and  soft  as 
satin,  his  eyes  as  bright  as  diamonds,  and  his  tail, 
which  curled  over  iiis  shiny  back  in  fine  style,  round, 
thick,  and  bushy  enough  to  satisfy  anybody.  A  more 
interesting  pet  1  never  had  or  saw.  (^ne  could  watch 
him  by  the  hour  without  growing  weary  of  his  antics. 
Creeping  carefully  along  the  mantelpiece,  or  lcai)ing 
recklessly  from  chair  to  table  and  from  table  to  chair 
again  ;  tearing  across  the  carpet  at  the  top  of  his  speed, 
or  scampering  over  the  oilcloth  with  his  sharp  little  toe- 
nails making  such  a  pattering  that  you  might  imagine 
there' were  half  a  dozen  of  him  ;  chatt-ring  with  de- 
light when  he  got  hold  of  something  to  his  fancy,  or 
scolding  like  a  fish-wife  because  he  could  not  get  into 
the  sideboard,  where,  as  he  knew  right  well,  the  apples 
and  nuts  were  kept  ;  as  full  of  fun  and  frolic  as  any 
kitten,  and  ten  times  more  knowing — there  is  not  room 
to  tell  one-half  of  his  "tricks  and  his  manners." 

Bright-eyes  seemed  to  have  no  preferences  among 
the  household,  nor,  indeed,  to  make  any  great  distinc- 
tion between  members  of  the  family  and  visitors.  All 
were  his  friends  alike.  Tiny  as  was  his  body,  it  held  a 
heart  big  enough  to  take  in  all  the  world.  Sometimes 
the  readiness  with  which  he  enlarged  his  circle  of  ac- 
quaintance was  rather  startling  to  the  visitors,  as  when, 
for  instance,  he  woul*'  come  quietly  into  the  drawing 
room  where  my  mother  was  receiving  callers,  leap  sud- 
denly up  into  a  lady's  lap  and  then  spring  to  her 
shoulder  or  even  to  the  top  of  her  bonnet.     This  he 


! 


122 


BRIGHT-EYES 


did  so  often,  and  with  such  success  in  evoking  screams, 
that  we  began  to  suspect  him  of  enjoying  the  diversion 
he  created.  But  perhaps  this  was  giving  him  credit 
for  a  Httle  more  wit  than  he  really  possessed. 

Dogs  and  cats  were,  of  course,  the  terror  of  his  life, 
and  he  had  several  narrow  escapes  from  both.  Once  I 
almost  gave  him  up  for  lost.  He  happened  to  be  in 
my  pocket  when  I  went  to  the  front  door  to  see  a 
friend,  and  becoming  frightened  at  my  friend's  big 
setter,  Bright-eyes  foolishly  ran  into  the  street  instead 
of  into  the  house.  The  dog  immediately  made  hot 
chase  after  him,  while  I  frantic  ally  pursued  the  dog,  full 
of  fear  as  to  the  result.  Fortunately,  however,  the 
sipiirrel,  before  going  very  far,  dodged  inio  a  corner  so 
narrow  that  his  burly  enemy  could  not  foll..w  and  I 
rescued  him  uninjured. 

When  studying  at  my  desk  I  used  to  allow  him  to 
play  freely  about  until  he  developed  such  a  fondness 
for  putting  his  nose  and  fore  paws  into  the  ink  bottle 
and  then  scampering  all  over  the  place,  leaving  his 
autograph  on  everything  he  touched,  that  I  was  com- 
pelled to  Itanish  him  from  the  room. 

He  generally  had  the  run  of  the  sitting  room  during 
the  evening  and  was  put  in  his  cage  before  we  went  to 
bed.  He  very  decidedly  disliked  being  shut  up,  and 
would  often  hide  just  before  the  time  came,  so  that  it 
would  be  quite  a  job  to  hunt  him  out.  As  a  rule  he 
was  found,  but  several  times  he  succeeded  in  eluding 
our  search,  and  as  sure  as  he  did,  about  an  hour  after 
all  were  in  bed   and   the  house  wrapped   in    silence, 


,\.jiiiMKm,«iMii,'ti^^'^^->'--">'*'''' 


ing  screams, 
he  diversion 

him   credit 
i. 

ir  of  his  life, 
th.  Once  I 
led  to  be  in 
or  to  see  a 

friend's  big 
treet  instead 
ly  r.iade  hot 

the  dog,  full 
however,  the 
'^  a  corner  so 
fo'.Lw  and  I 

allow  him  to 
li  a  fondness 
he  ink  bottle 
leaving  his 
it  I  was  coni- 

room  during 
re  we  went  to 
shut  up,  and 
ne,  so  that  it 

As  a  rule  he 
;d  in  eluding 
an  hour  after 
d   in    silence, 


BRir.HT-EYES 


123 


Lright-eyes'  little  feet  would  l)e  heard  pit-pattering 
over,  the  hall  oilcioth,  up  tlie  stairs,  and  about  the 
rooms,  until  somebody  took  him  into  bed,  where  he 
would  snooze  peacefully  until  morning.  It  was  just  in 
this  way  that  my  poor  little  pet  lost  his  life. 

There  was  no  ditflculty  in  feeding  Master  Bright-eyes. 
Apples  and  nuts  were,  I  need  hardly  say,  the  joy  of  his 
life,  but  a  crust  of  bread  was  not  despised,  and  many 
other  things  were  thankfully  accepted.  It  was  a  charm- 
ing sight  to  watch  him  sitting  up  primly  on  the  table 
with  a  bit  of  apple  or  a  nut  kernel  in  his  paws,  and  eat- 
ing it  as  daintily  as  any  lady,  every  now  and  then  paus- 
ing to,  chatter  his  thanks. 

Once  he  had  a  very  narrow  escape  from  death.  It 
happened  in  this  way.  He:  had  climbed  into  a  drawer 
of  the  sideboard,  and  when  I  went  after  him  he  tried 
to  escape  by  creeping  out  at  the  l-ack.  Unfortunately 
there  was  not  room  even  for  his  small  body  between 
the  top  of  the  drawer  and  its  casing,  and  in  jjulling  out 
the  drawer  the  breath  was  completely  scpieezed  out  of 
the  poor  little  chap.  He  was  (piite  limp  and  api)arently 
dead  ;  but  hoping  for  the  best,  I  laid  him  on  his  back 
in  the  palm  of  my  hand  and  gently  stroked  his  breast. 
Soon  he  began  to  revive,  and  in  a  few  minutes  de- 
lighted us  all  by  being  as  lively  as  ever. 

The  next  time,  alas  !  he  did  not  fare  so  well.  None 
of  us  knew  just  how  it  occurred  ;  but  one  cold  morn- 
ing in  late  autumn  our  darling  little  Bright-eyes  was 
found  dead,  beyond  all  hope  of  reviving,  in  the  bed 
which  my  youngest  brother  and  myself  shared.      He 


! 


124 


BRIGHT-EYES 


had  been  left  out  of  his  cage  when  we  went  lO  bed, 
and  no  doubt  some  time  during  the  night  had  pat- 
tered upstairs  in  his  usual  way,  (limbed  on  our  bed, 
crept  in  between  us,  where  he  knew  right  well  it 
would  be  deliciously  warm,  and  then  by  some  move- 
ment made  by  one  of  us  his  little  life  had  been  crushed 
out  without  our  even  knowing  of  the  calamity. 


ffsSSSSSSSKSSTSr^ 


"1 


went  lO  bed, 
ght  had  pat- 
on  our  bed, 
right  well  it 
•  some  move- 
been  crushed 
mity. 


i^^:'^'m 


^Jf^ 


mhh- 


>  /  WOUM)  not  i)ut  the 
|f(r  faith  of  my  readers  to 
the  test  by  telling 
them  the  following 
story,  did  I  not  have 
it  upon  no  less  trust- 
worthy authority  than 
V  >.-  the  word  of  a  ])residing 
^-^  elder  of  the  Methodist 
church  of  Canada,  who  spoke  from  the  standpoint  of 
an  eye-witness. 

When  Dr.  Williams'  boys  were  going  to  school,  they 
were,  like  all  other  boys,  very  fond  of  dogs,  and  held 
in  joint  ownership  a  fine  brown  spaniel,  which  showed 
more  than  ordinary  intelligence.  A  friend  offered 
them  a  cute  little  setter  pup  ;  but  on  asking  their 
father's  permission  to  adopt  it,  he  refused,  on  the 
ground  that  one  dog  was  enough,  .md  he  did  not  wish 
to  have  any  more  about. 

The  boys,  however,  instead  of  accepting  his  refusal 
as  final,  brought  the  puppy  home  and  hid  it  away  in 
the  henhouse,  in  the  hope  that  the  parental  opposition 
might  be  overborne  in  some  way,  and  by  a  happy 
chance  their  hope  was  fulfilled. 

"S 


126     TIIK    ri'l'I-Y.  TlIK    HKN.   ANI>TIIK    Bin    DOG 

The  <  bill  autumn  air  made  the  little  puppy  feel  very 
uncomfortable,  and  lie  wailed  so  piteously  and  persist- 
ently that  at  last  the  hoys  slipped  him  into  one  of  the 
box  ne:  ts  arranged  for  the  hens  to  dejjosit  their  eggs  in, 
hoping  that  he  would  be  warmer  there,  and  that,  at  all 
events,  his  cries  would  not  make  themselves  heard. 

Ihe  morning  after  this  was  done  they  rushed  into 
their  father's  study,  <rying  out  :  "  Father,  come  here, 
quick!" 

Dr.  Williams  promi)tly  responded  to  the  call,  and 
what  he  saw  well  repaid  him  for  being  thus  disturbed 
in  the  middle  of  sermon  preparation. 

'I'he  boys  had  started  to  the  henhouse  early  to  see 
their  new  treasure,  but  while  still  at  a  distance  had 
discovered  a  visitor  before  them.  'I'hey  had  (-autiously 
remained  still  at  a  distance  and  watched  a  sight  which 
made  them  almost  doubt  their  own  eyes. 

The  pupi)y  had  been  whim])ering  so  vigorously  as  to 
attract  the  attention  and  awaken  the  sympathy  of  the  big 
dog,  who  had  thereupon  done  his  best  to  get  into  the 
nest  to  comfort  the  little  fellow.  But  the  opening  was 
altogether  too  small  to  allow  of  this.  It  was  then  that 
he  formed  a  scheme  to  meet  the  situation  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  an  intellect  of  a  higher  order  than 
a  dog's. 

One  of  the  hens  was  loitering  about  in  a  purposeless 
way.  The  spaniel  deftly  caught  her  by  the  neck,  and 
dragged  her  over  to  the  nest  in  which  the  puppy  was 
shivering  antl  complaining.  He  then  sought  to  push 
her  into  the  opening.     So  gently  was  he  holding  her, 


ICi    DOG 

ppy  fuel  very 
•  and  pcrsist- 
:o  one  of  the 
their  egfjs  in, 
id  that,  at  all 
L's  heard. 
'  rushed  into 
•,  come  here, 

the  rail,  and 
lus  disturbed 

early  to  see 
distance  had 
lad  cautiously 
a  sight  which 

prously  as  to 
thy  of  the  big 
3  get  into  the 
;  oj)ening  was 
was  then  that 
jn  that  would 
er  order  than 

a  purposeless 
the  neck,  and 
he  puppy  was 
)Ught  to  push 
;  holding  her, 


riiK  ri'ifv,  nil    iiin,  and  iiik  nu;  ixv,    127 

however,  lliat  she  broke  away  from  him.  Hut  he  sooii 
secured  lur  again,  and  despite  her  noisy  protests, 
brought  her  bark  to  tlie  nest.  Now  l\is  saga<  ity  re- 
vealed itself  in  its  fullest  extent.  Me  had  no  hands  to 
shove  the  unwilling  bird  inside  ;  but,  keeping  a  good 
hold  up-m  her  ne(  k  with  his  teeth,  he  cleverly  (Towded 
her  in  with  his  body,  pushing  finuly  but  gently,  and 
doing  her  not  the  slightest  harm,  until  at  last  success 
crowned  his  efforts. 

Before  this  one  of  the  boys  had  sudilenly  thought 
that  if  his  father  could  only  see  this  dever  performance 
by  the  big  dog  his  heart  would  surely  be  softened 
toward  the  little  stranger,  and  so  they  liad  both  run  at 
top  speeil  for  their  father,  bringing  him  to  the  spot  in 
time  to  see  the  big  dog's  last  and  successful  attempt. 

Now  was  not  that  a  most  remarkable  chain  of  reason- 
ing for  a  dog?  The  puppy  was  cold.  He  woidd 
gladly  have  ciddled  it  uj)  to  his  own  warm  breast  had 
he  been  able,  but  he  could  nu'.  get  in  to  it,  and  it  had 
not  sense  enough  to  come  out  to  him.  It  was  in  the 
hen's  nest.  If  the  hen  were  there  she  woidd  cover  it 
with  her  wings,  and  i)rotect  it  from  the  cold.  'I'hen  it 
was  only  necessary  to  put  the  hen  into  the  nest,  and 
the  puppy  would  be  comforted  ;  a  conclusion  no  sooner 
arrived  at  than  carried  into  e.xecution. 

'Ihe  hen  scarcely  seemed  disposed  to  meet  the  big 
do"'s  expectations,  but  that  did  not  matter,  as  the  boys 
could  restrain  their  enthusiasm  no  longer  and  cpiickly 
sent  her  scpiawking  away  in  order  to  comfort  the  puppy 
themselves  and  pet  and   praise  the  dog  who  seemed 


\2H     THE  lUI'I'V,  THE  URN,  ANO  THE  nKi  DOO 

l-lcasfil  at  the  turn  affairs  liad  taken  ami  watrhed  the 
piijipy's  fortunes  with  benevolent  eyes  and  wa^ninj,'  tail. 
It  is  liardly  neeessary  to  add  that  after  so  strange  and 
toiK  liinj;  a  manifestation  of  interest  on  the  part  of  the 
dog,  the  opposition  on  tiie  i)art  of  tlie  father  was  witii- 
drawn,  and  the  little  puppy  admitted  into  the  family 
ircle. 


ik;   doo 

1  w;iti  bed  the 
I  wiigging  tail. 
()  stranj^c  and 
le  part  of  tlic 
liir  was  willi- 
l(j  tlic  family 


^  '    »J«R-.- 


'/   >: 


v.  were   acciistomud 

to    s]ieiul    the    hot 

ni  i  (1  s  II  111  111  c  r 

iiioMtlis  at   liri- 

taniiia,  a   pretty 

'.iltle  village  near 

the  foot  of  big  Lake 

Deschenes.  where  we 

were  111 lli.d  to  sleep  at  night 

by  the  soft  splashing  of  the 

water  and   the  never-(  easing 

roar  of  the  rapids,  whose  sound 

,■       :     was  borne  to  us  by  the  cool  breezes 

off  the  broad  bosom  of  the  lake. 

Twice  every  day  there  passed  before  our  cottage  a 
long  procession  of  cows,  headed  by  one  wearing  a  big 
bronze  bell  at  her  neck,  which  insured  that  she  should 
"have  music  wherever  she  goes,"  althoutrh  of  a  some- 
what monotonous  character.     The  cows  were  going  to 

I  129 


T 


MOOLEY   TO   THE   RESCUE 

or  returning  from  the  island,  as  it  was  called,  a  cractof 
land  at  the  foot  of  the  rapids,  which,  owing  to  the 
marshy-  nature  of  the  soil,  afforded  abundant  and  suc- 
culent pasturage  even  in  days  of  drought,  when  the 
uplands  were  burned  brown. 

These  cows  needed  no  herdsmnn.     When  milkmg 
time  came  they  never  failed  to  report  themselves,  and 
it  was  very  interesting  to  see  them,  about  five  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  actuated  by  the  common  purpose  of 
being  relieved  of  their  burden  of  milk,  gather  together 
from  the  different  parts  of  the  island,  and  then  move 
on  to  the  village,  where  each  went  to  her  own  stable 
In  early  summer,  when  the  descent  of  the   "north 
waters  "   causes  the  river  Ottawa  to  rise  high  above  its 
ordinary   level,    Lake    Deschenes,    which   is   only   an 
expansion  of  the  river,  rises  also,  and  there  is  then  a 
rushing  sfeam  between  the  island  and  the  mamland, 
which  has  to  be  crossed  by  the  cows.     They  do  not 
mind  it  in  the  least,  however,  swimming  to  and  fro  as 
if  they  were  to  the  "manner  born." 

One  spring,  just  when  the  water  was  at  its  height 
the  Whitton  cow  one  day  found  herself  in  possession  of 
the  dearest  little  calf  in  the  world,  a  regular  beauty,  as 
she  proudly  flattered  herself;  and  not  feehng  very 
strong  that  afternoon,  she  decided  to  stay  over  night 
on  the  island,  instead  of  going  back  with  the  others. 

But  when  the  time  for  the  general  movement  came, 
her  brown-and-white  baby,  instead  of  staying  by  her 
side  like  a  dutiful  son,  attached  himself  to  the  Murphy 
cow  and  joined  the  homeward  procession.     His  mother, 


aiirt  in  '■  Tj'.M 


CUE 

IS  called,  a  iract  of 
ich,  owing  to  the 
abundant  and  siic- 
Iroiight,  when   the 

n.  When  milking 
jrt  themselves,  and 

about  five  o'clock 
:ommon  purpose  of 
ilk,  gather  together 
nd,  and  then  move 

to  her  own  stable. 
;ent  of  the  "north 
i  rise  high  above  its 

which  is  only  an 
ind  there  is  then  a 
I  and  the  mainland, 
:ows.  They  do  not 
mniing  to  and  fro  as 

r  was  at  its  height, 
rself  in  possession  oi 
a  regular  beauty,  as 
id  not  feeling  very 
d  to  stay  over  night 
;k  with  the  others. 
:ral  movement  came, 
id  of  staying  by  her 
mself  to  the  Murphy 
ession.     His  mother. 


MOOLEY   TO   THE    RESCUE 


131 


too  weak  to  follow,  entreated  him  to  return  to  her,  but 
the  willful  little  chap  persisted  in  pioceeding  and  pres- 
ently the  procession  came  to  the  rushing  stream,  into 
which  the  old  cows  plunged  without  liesitation. 

The  calf,  taking  it  for  granted  that  what  was  good  for 
his  elders  was  good  likewise  for  him,  plunged  in  also. 
But  alas  !  he  soon  discovered  his  error,  and  had  reason 
to  repent  of  his  rashness.  Tlie  cold  water  chilled  him 
to  the  heart,  and  his  weak  little  legs  could  do  nothing 
against  the  turbulent  torrent  He  was  in  imminent 
peril  of  a  watery  grave,  and  in  his  extremity  he  bleated 
pitifully  for  help. 

He  did  not  cry  in  vain.  The  Murphy  cow,  to 
whom  he  had  attached  himself,  had  by  this  time  got 
half-way  across,  but  on  hearing  his  piteous  wail  she 
turned  about  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  With  won- 
derful sagacity  she  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance. 
She  did  not  waste  time  in  scolding  the  calf  for  his  folly, 
but  plowing  her  way  through  the  water  to  him,  put 
her  broad  nose  underneath  his  stomach,  and  lifting  him 
up  upon  it,  bore  him  safely  back  to  his  starting  point, 
where,  by  shoving  him  ashore,  she  intimated  as  jdainly 
as  possible  that  he  should  get  back  to  his  mother  as 
quickly  as  his  trembling  legs  would  carry  him. 

The  mother's  anxious  call  was  still  coming  from  the 
copse  where  she  lay  unable  to  look  after  her  errant 
baby,  and  responding  to  it  with  a  comical  cry,  half 
whimper,  half  shout  of  rejoicing,  the  little  crentuiv 
shambled  back  a  wetter  and  a  wiser  calf,  to  tell  his 
troubled  parent  all  about  his  thrilling  experience. 


132 


MOOLEY   TO   THE    RF5CUE 


Now  it  seems  to  me  that  the  Murphy  cow  surely 
deserved  some  recognition  at  the  hands  of  the  Royal 
Humane  Society,  and  if  a  medal  should  appear  inap- 
propriate,  perhaps  a  bell  of  more  than  ordinary  sonor- 
ousness  and  sweetness,  and  suitably  engraved,  would 
be  a  fitting  testimonial. 


OIL 


cow  surely 
f  the  Royal 
ijjpear  inap- 
inary  sonor- 
ived,  would 


^ 


>^^ 


i\ 


D 


O  one  was  more  fully  aware  of 
Arthur  lironson's  shy,  sensitive 
nature  than  he  was  himself;  cer- 
tainly no  one  deplored  it  more 
deeply  than  he  did.  Indeed, 
there  were  times  when  he  resented 
/  it,  as  though  it  was  something  apart 
from  himself,  a  troublesome  trait  with 
which  he  ought  not,  in  common  fairness,  to 
have  been  endowed.  Hardly  a  day  passed  that  he  did 
not  lament  with  more  or  less  bitterness,  according  to 
the  importance  of  the  incident,  the  quick  mounting  of 
the  blood  to  his  cheek  at  sotne  personal  remark  made 
by  one  of  his  companions  in  a  jesting  or  teasing  way,  or 
the  sudden  silence  that  fell  upon  his  lips  just  when  he 
ought  to  have  been  ready  with  a  bright  retort. 

He  could  not  help  feeling,  moreover,  that  his  re- 
served, taciturn  ways  seriously  interfered  with  his  at- 
taining that  popularity  among  his  playmates  for  which 
his  heart  secretly  hungered.  How  he  envied  Charlie 
Forrest,  of  the  blonde  curls  and  blue  eyes,  whose  frank 
manner  and  merry  laugh  made  everybody  his  friend. 


T 

t 


134  IN   THE    FOOTSTEPS   Ol"    rHILIP 

Not  that  he  was  looked  upon  by  the  boys  of  \rch- 
field  with  any  feeling  of  aversion  or  contempt.  He 
had  long  ago  shown  himself  as  .lucky  as  any  of  them 
in  the  face  of  danger  and  as  apt  as  the  majority  at  the.r 
different  games.  Hut  he  knew  very  well  that,  while 
welcome  enough  as  a  companion  in  sport,  he  was  never 
admitted  into  the  inner  circle  of  their  friendship  ;  and 
this  fact  was  a  sore  grief  to  him,  especially  as  he  could 
not  see  his  way  to  any  improvement  of  the  situation. 

This  same  shy  self-consciousness  had  been  a  source 
of  difficulty  and  concern  to  him  in  another  way.      Care- 
fully trained  at  home  to  be  always  steadfast  for  the 
right,  and  naturally  preferring  those  things  that  were 
pure  and  peaceable  and  of  good  report  to  their  oppo- 
sites,  however  enticing  they  might  seem,  he  neverthe- 
less had  little  knowledge  of  vital  religion  until,  when  he 
was  well  on  in  his  teens,  there  came  to  Archf.eld  an 
evangelist  of  note,  whose  burning  words  set  Arthur  s 
heart  on  fire  and  stirred  his  soul  to  its  very  depths. 
He  seemed  to  wake  up  from  a  sleep  of  selfish  indiffer- 
ence and  to  realize  as  never  before  his  responsibilities. 
His  conscience  cried  out  against  him  and  gave  him  no 
peace,  calling  upon  him  to  obey  the  admonition,  "  Go, 
work  in  my  vineyard."  ,,,      .       •., 

But  how  was  he  to  work?  What  could  he  do  with 
his  faltering  tongue,  his  humiliating  shyness?  "  1  can- 
not take  any  part  in  Christian  work,"  he  would  say  to 
himself  in  one  of  the  many  dialogues  between  duty  and 
disinclination  that  were  continually  taking  place.  "I 
have   no  fitness  for  it  whatever.      If  1  were  to  try  to 


',:?f'''':T^"  -^j^vg.'-'-. 


T 


^s  of  \rch- 
i;nn)t.  He 
ny  of  them 
rity  at  their 

that,  while 
e  was  never 
dship  ;  and 
as  he  could 
situation. 
:en  a  source 
way.  Care- 
Ifast  for  the 
;s  that  were 

their  oppo- 
le  neverthe- 
itil,  when  he 
Archfield  an 
set  Arthur's 
very  depths. 
Ifish  indiffer- 
sponsibilities. 
gave  him  no 
nition,  "Go, 

d  he  do  with 
ss?  "I  can- 
would  say  to 
keen  duty  and 
g  place.  "  I 
vere  to  try  to 


IN    THE    FOOTSTEI'S   OF    PHILIP 


135 


say  something  at  the  social  mceiinj,  or  to  talk  religion 
with  one  of  the  boys,  1  simply  couldn't  do  it.  My 
tongue  would  stick  in  my  mouth  and  I'd  only  just 
make  a  fool  of  myself,  I'm  sure.  Now  there's  Charlie 
Forrest — it  wouldn'  t  be  any  trouble  to  him  to  take  part 
in  the  meeting,  or  even  to  talk  to  any  of  us  about  re 
ligion.  He  doesn't  know  what  it  means  to  be  nervous 
asldo." 

Whether  Arthur  was  wholly  correct  in  his  estimate  of 
Charlie  or  not,  was;  of  no  particular  consequence  ;  since, 
however  he  might  try  to  argue  with  himself,  it  did  not 
in  the  slightest  degree  bear  lipon  the  question  as  to 
what  he  ought  to  do.  The  evangelist  had  laid  great 
stress  upon  the  exceeding  importance  of  all  those  who 
had  been  benefited  by  the  special  services  entering 
without  delay  into  active  work  in  connection  with  the 
church  which  they  attended.  The  Master  was  always 
in  need  of  helpers,  and  none  who  wished  to  please 
him  should  withhold  their  aid. 

In  order  to  put  to  good  use  the  energies  and  talents 
of  the  young  people  who  had  joined  the  Archfield 
Church  as  a  result  of  the  evangelist's  labors,  a  young 
people's  society  had  been  established,  in  which  the 
pastor  took  a  very  keen  interest.  At  first  Arthur  had 
held  aloof,  although  pressed  to  join.  He  felt  reluctant 
to  commit  himself  even  to  that  extent.  Every  one 
who  joined  the  society  was,  he  knew,  expected  to  do 
something  toward  its  spiritual  prosperity,  and  he  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  undertake  anything  of  the 
kind. 


IN    Till-;    FOOTSTIcrs    Ol'    rillLII' 

As  a  natural  consequence,  ne  fell  into  a  very  •.ni-<^r- 
abk  state  of  mind.  He  hardly  knew  which  of  the  two 
he  envied  the  most  :  Andrew  Allan,  the  secretary  of 
the  society,  whose  whole  heart  seemed  full  of  love  for 
religious  work,  who  looked  as  though  he  was  the  hap- 
piest boy  in  Archficld,  and  found  more  delight  in  the 
meetings  of  the  church  than  in  a  baseball  match  ;  or 
Charlie  Forrest,  to  whom  religion  seemed  a  subject  oi 
no  concern  whatever,  and  who  laughed  and  joked  in 
his  merry  way  at  the  very  idea  of  his  ever  taking  part 
in  Christian  work. 

Certainly,  either  the  enthusiasm  of  the  one  or  the  gay 
carelessness  of  the  other  seemed  infmitelv  preferable 
to  his  morbid  moping,  which  led  nowhere  but  to  deeper 
despondency. 

Matters  were  in  this  state  when,  one  Stmday  even- 
ing, Arthur's  pastor  preached  a  sermon  that  the  boy 
felt  had  a  special  meaning  for  himself.     The  text  was 
taken  frora  the  first  chapter  of  John's  C.ospel  and  con- 
tained  only  three  words,   viz.,  "Philip    findeth    Na- 
thanael."      Upon  the  incident  to  which  they  referred, 
the  preacher  based  a  very  earnest  and  moving  address 
on   ihe   importance   and  influence  of  personal   work. 
The  line  of  argument  was  that  the  very  best  way  in 
which  Christ's  followers  could  prove  their  gratitrde  for 
the  great  salvation  they  had  obtained  through  him  and 
their  appreciation  of  its  blessedness,   was  to  make  it 
known  to  others  and  to  do  all  they  could  to  "find" 
their  friends,  as  Philii,  had  found  Nathanael.  in  order 
to  tell  him  of  his  wonderful  discovery. 


IN    THE    FOOTSTEPS   OF    PHILIP 


«37 


very  •.iii''*''"- 
li  of  the  two 
secretary  of 

I  of  love  for 
,-as  the  hap- 
:hght  in  the 

II  match  ;  or 
a  subject  oi 

nd  joked  in 
■  taking  part 

ne  or  the  gay 
ly  preferable 
Jilt  io  deeper 

Minday  even- 
that  the  boy 
The  text  was 
ipel  and  con- 
fmdeth  Na- 
:hcy  referred, 
jving  address 
irsonal  work. 
r  best  way  in 
r  gratiti'de  for 
oiigh  him  and 
IS  to  make  it 
Id  to  "find" 
nacl.  in  order 


Arthur  saw  the  point  very  clearly  and  made  no  at- 
tempt to  disguise  from  himself  how  directly  the  sermon 
applied. 

"  I  know  I  ought  at  least  to  try,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  walked  home  alone  from  the  church,  pondering 
deeply  over  what  he  had  heard.  " '  1'  ve  never  yet  done 
anything.  But,"  he  went  on,  with  a  despairing  shake 
of  the  head,  "what's  the  use  ?  I'd  only  make  a  fool 
of  myself,  and  they'd  be  sure  to  laugh  at  me." 

It  was  not  really  lack  of  gratitude  to  (lod,  he  argued, 
that  kept  him  back  ;  it  was  lack  of  confidence  in  him- 
self. He  had  too  much  modesty.  Now  if  lie  were 
only  possessed  of  a  little  more  conceit  he  could,  witli- 
out  difficulty,  pluck  up  sufficient  courage  to  do  the 
duty  that  he  felt  to  be  laid  upon  him. 

But  these  arguments  gave  him  no  comfort.  ''!.'» 
pressure  upon  his  heart  grew  heavier,  and  not  ligl  ter  ; 
until  at  last  it  seemed  as  though  he  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  and  on  his  knees  one  morning  he  pledged 
himself  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  sjjeaking  a 
word  for  the  Master.  No  sooner  had  he  done  this 
than  the  burden  on  his  mind  grew  wonderfully  lighter, 
and  not  only  so.  but  he  felt  a  degree  of  courage  that 
he  had  never  known  before.  If  this  new  state  of  feel- 
ings continued  the  task  would  not  be  difficult  after  all. 

Now,  was  it  a  mere  accident,  or  was  it  in  accordance 
with  the  decree  of  Providence,  that  the  first  one  to 
cross  Arthur's  path  when  he  went  forth  with  this  new- 
born purpose  inspiring  him,  was  Charlie  Forrest? 
As  bright  and  fresh  as  the  morning  itself,  he  came  up 


I 


'38 


IN    THE    FOOTSTEPS   OF    PHILIP 


'ii 


'  I' 


to  Arthur  and  gave  liim  a  hearty  daj)  on  the  oack, 
saying;  "Hello,  Arty!  what's  the  good  word  this 
morning?" 

Arthur  gave  a  sudden  start  and  l.hislied  up  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair.  Charlie  Forrest  was  certainly  the 
very  last  one  of  his  companions  that  he  wante(1  to  meet 
just  then,  for  liow  could  he  keep  his  pledge  by  speak- 
ing to  him  ?  So  confused  was  lie  that  he  could  not  for 
a  moment  make  any  reply,  and  Charlie  asked  in  some 
surprise  : 

"Anything  the  matter  this  morning,  Arty?" 

With  an  effort  Arthur  managed  to  stammer  : 
I.  N— no,  there's  nothing  the  matter;  hut  you  gave 
me  a  sort  of  a  start  coming  up  so  suddenly  when  I  was 
thinking  about  something." 

"A  i)enny  for  your  thoughts,"  cried  Charlie  gayly, 
httle  imagining  what  those  thoughts  were. 

Here  now  was  Arthur's  opportunity,  and  summoning 
up  all  his  courage  he  determined  to  embrace  it.  In  a 
hesitating  way  he  asked  : 

"Did  your  hear  Mr.  Carson's  sermon  last  Sunday 

night?" 

"Yes,"  rephed  Charlie,  v.ith  an  inquiring  glance  at 
his  companion.      "  It  was  a  good  one,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

Arthur  grew  bolder  at  this  encouraging  answer. 

"  I  thought  it  hit  me  pretty  hard,"  he  said,  looking 
into  the  other's  face. 

"  How's  that?"  queried  Charlie,  with  interest. 

With  a  freedom  of  utterance  that  was  a  surprise  to 
both  himself  and  his  listener,  Arthur  then  proceeded 


I  the   Dack, 
word   this 

1  up  to  the 
;rtainly  the 
ted  lo  meet 
e  by  speak - 
ould  not  for 
;ed  in  some 


stammer  : 
it  you  gave 
when  I  was 


liarhe  gayly, 

summoning 
ce  it.     In  a 

last  Sunday 

ng  glance  at 
n't  it?" 
inswer. 
iaid,  looking 

nterest. 

a  surprise  to 

n  proceeded 


IN    THE    FOOTSTEPS    OF    rHILIP 


139 


to  tell  what  had  been  passing  through  his  mind,  and 
the  resolution  which  had  l)een  the  result  of  it  all. 
While  he  spoke  the  expression  of  Charlie's  counte- 
nance changed  from  that  of  mere  friendly  curiosity  to  a 
serious  attention  that  was  rare  in  iiis  iiandsome  face. 
Beyond  a  doubt  Arthur's  words  were  making  a  deep 
impression  upon  ,m,  and  when  the  latter  ceased  speak- 
ing, he  laid  h  hand  in  an  affectionate  way  upon  his 
shoulder,  saying  in  a  gentle  tone  : 

"And  so  I  am  to  be  your  Nathanael,  .Arthur?  I 
don't  know  my  Hible  as  well  as  I  ought,  and  when  I  go 
home  I'll  look  up  that  text  and  read  the  whole  story 
for  myself,  and  then  we'll  have  another  talk  about  it." 
It  was  a  great  surprise  to  Charlie  to  have  (piiet.  re- 
served Arthur  speak  to  him  on  such  a  subject  as  relig- 
ion, and  it  was  even  more  of  a  surprise  to  Arthur  to 
find  his  hesitating  overtures  met  in  so  kindly  and  se- 
rious a  manner.  He  had  looked  for  careless  jesting 
and  perhaps  ridicule  ;  and  instead  he  had  received  an 
attentive  hearing  and  the  promise  that  what  he  had 
said  would  be  thought  over  and  talked  about  again. 

"What  a  ninny  I  was  to  be  so  frightened  about 
speaking  to  my  friends  !  "  solilocpiized  Arthur,  after  the 
two  boys  had  parted.  "Why,  there  !  I've  just  been 
doing  it  to  the  one  I  thought  hardest  of  all  to  say  any- 
thing to,  and  just  see  how  nice  he  was  al)out  it !  " 

The  few  words  spoken  in  fear  and  trembling  proved 
a  falling  of  seed  into  good  ground.  Underneath  his 
gay  indifference  Charlie  had  been  hiding  very  different 
feelings.     Out  of  curiosi' .  he  had  attended  one  of  the 


II 


IN    THK    lOOTSTEPS   OF    PHILIP 

evangelist's   meetings,  and  what  he  heard  there  had 
been  so  disturbing  that  he  would  not  go  again. 

He  could  not  however,  simply  by  staying  away,  (piict 
the  voice  tiiat  had  been  aroused  within  him,  and  al- 
though perhaps  no  one  would  ever  have  guessed  it,  his 
days  were  full  of  troubled  thoughts  which  he  strove  to 
banish  by  more  energetic  merry-making.  He  had,  in- 
deed, just  reached  that  point  when  a  worti  fitly  spoken 
miglit  prove  the  turning  point  of  his  life  ;  and  it  was  a 
little  strange  and  yet  the  fact,  that  in  all  Archfield 
there  was  no  one  from  whom  that  word  could  have 
come  with  more  force  than  from  .\rthur  I'.ronson. 

Deep  in  his  heart  Charlie  felt  a  sincere  respect  for 
the  reserved,  retiring  boy  who,  nevertheless,  was  so 
courageous  or  skillful  when  courage  or  skill  weie  re- 
quired. He  felt  full  confidence  in  .Arthur's  profession 
of  religion,  and  was  far  readier  to  listen  to  him  than 
even  to  Mr.  Carson,  although  the  minister  was  anything 
but  a  bugbear  to  the  young  jjcople  of  the  jilace. 

Charlie  and  Arthur  had  otlier  talks  upon  the  subject, 
as  the  result  of  which  the  former,  before  long,  followed 
Arthur's  example  in  bei;oming  a  member  of  the  young 
people's  society  and  of  the  church.  He  tlirew  all  his  in- 
fluence upon  its  side,  soon  earning  for  himself  Mr. 
Carson's  praise  for  being  his  best  recruiting  sergeant. 

And  thus  Arthur's  first  attempt  to  follow  in  the  foot- 
steps of  Philip  led  to  blessed  conseciuences  far  outreach- 
ing  his  expectations,  and  in  after  years  he  found  cheer 
and  fresh  inspiration  by  looking  back  to  that  morning 
when  he  first  bursl  the  bonds  of  silence. 


i 


-:^rr- 


1  there  had 
i{ain. 

away,  (luict 
nni,  and  al- 
essed  it,  his 
he  strove  to 
He  had,  in- 
fitly  spoken 
and  it  was  a 
ill  Archfield 
could  have 
onson. 

,'  respect  for 
less,  was  so 
kill  were  re- 
's profession 
to  him  than 
was  anything 
])larc. 

I  the  subject, 
)ng,  followed 
of  the  young 
cw  all  his  in- 
himself  Mr. 
y  sergeant. 
V  in  the  foot- 
far  outrcach- 
;  found  cheer 
that  morning 


OK  HIM  ME  I,  MAN  ha-l  fallen 
into  a  very  dcspondt-nt  and  un- 
"I  "^  hajipy  state   of  niiiul,  at  which 

fact,  however,  no  one  acipiainted  with 
the  ( ircumstances  of  his  life  would  be 
likely  to  feel  any  surprise.  The  world 
had  not  gone  well  with  Joe.  The  fates 
had  been  unkind  to  him,  as  the  saying  is. 
As  far  back  as  his  memory  went,  there  was  little  or 
nothing  of  an  encouraging  nature  to  retail.  To  use 
one  of  his  own  phrases,  it  might  with  truth  be  said  that 
he  had  not  been  given  a  "  fair  show  "  from  the  start. 

His  mother,  of  whom  he  had  faint  but  very  lond 
memories,  died  when  he  was  still  a  little  urchin  in  short 
frocks  and  his  father,  after  a  decent  interval  of  waiting, 
had  married  again.  The  second  Mrs.  Himmelman  was 
a  stout,  red-faced,  ipiick-tempered,  bustling  woman, 
not  unkind  at  heart,  but  intensely  occupied  with  her 
own  children  and  the  affairs  of  the  household,  and  find- 
ing no  time  and  little  patience  for  her  stejjson,  whose 

141 


142 


HOI.n    ON,   HAROLD 


slow  ways  and  slower  speech  were  a  constant  source  of 
irritation  to  her. 

i'oor  Joe  ought  to  have  had  a  champion  in  his  father, 
but  the  fact  was  that  Mrs.  Iliinmelman  number  two  had 
him  entirely  under  her  intluence,  and  lie  never  ven- 
tured the  slij^litest  protest,  even  when  the  boy  was 
obviously  beinj?  treated  with  undeserved  severity. 

When  Joe  grew  old  enough  to  wield  an  axe  and 
carry  a  buc  ket,  he  betame  the  hewer  of  wood  and 
drawer  of  water  for  the  house,  and  his  energetic  step- 
mother allowed  him  scant  margin  for  play  or  any  other 
form  of  recreation.  His  lot,  from  a  boy's  point  of 
view,  was  bitter  indjed,  and  its  effect  upon  his  mind 
was  to  make  him  seem  duller  and  slower  every  year  that 
passed. 

Not  even  at  school  had  he  deliverance  from  the 
taunts  and  flaunts  which  made  him  miserable  at  home, 
for  there  he  proved  himself  a  very  unsatisfactory  pupil, 
and  the  teacher,  knowing  it  was  a  perfectly  safe  prr>- 
ceeding  in  Joe's  case,  for  he  had  no  one  to  take  his 
part,  amused  himself  and  the  scholars  by  making  the 
poor  boy  the  butt  of  his  wit,  which  was  none  the  less 
aggravating  because  of  its  manifest  poverty. 

It  seemed  that  only  a  single  ray  of  sunshine  bright- 
ened his  life,  and  that  came  from  one  of  the  smallest 
boys  in  the  school,  by  name,  Harold  McKean,  the  son 
of  the  most  important  and  influential  merchant  in  the 
village.  This  Harold  had  a  tender  heart,  and  although 
Joe  was  four  years  his  senior,  and  as  many  inches  taller 
and  many  pounds  heavier,  his  sympathy  for  the  poor 


nt  Hourcc  of 

n  his  father, 
l»cr  two  had 
never  ven- 
lie  boy  was 
verity. 

an  axe  and 
r  wood  and 
L-rgetic  step- 
n  any  other 
/'s  point  of 
on  his  mind 
ery  year  that 

■e  from  the 
)le  at  home, 
iictory  pupil, 
tly  safe  pr'<- 
i;  to  take  his 
making  the 
lone  the  less 

•ihine  bright- 

the  smallest 

lean,  the  son 

chant  in  the 

and  although 

inches  taller 

for  the  poor 


^mmrmm'mr^ 


HOT.n    ON,   HAKOin 


143 


fellow's  hanl  lot  made  him  desirous  of  alleviating  it  in 
some  way,  and  he  began  to  be  lu'lpfiil  by  showing  a 
friendliness  toward  him  that  |oe,  as  soon  as  he  found  it 
was  genuine  and  loiieealed  no  cruel  trick,  lieartily 
apjireciated.  The  other  boys  were  (juick  to  see  tiie 
comical  side  of  such  a  companions!-.ii),  wliicii  indeed 
reseinliled  thai  iielween  a  Newioundland  dog  and  a  fox 
terrier. 

They  were  in  many  ways  well  adapted  to  supplement 
each  other's  defn  iencies.  What  Harold  hu  ked  in  si/.e 
and  strength  he  made  up  in  (piickness  of  wits  and  agility 
of  body,  while  Joe's  musi  les  were  always  ready  to 
acc9mplish  what  was  beyond  the  other's  powers.  Not 
only  so,  but  Harold,  without  in  the  least  imagining  it 
exerted  a  moral  influence  over  Joe  that  was  distinctly 
beneficial.  His  marked  preference  for  the  hitherto  de- 
spised society  of  the  big  lad  awoke  tiie  hitter's  latent  self- 
respect.  He  began  to  entertain  a  somewhat  im])roved 
opinio.'i  of  himself,  which  is  always  a  good  thing  to 
have. 

The  friendship  had  been  of  a  year's  standing  when  it 
came  about  that  Joe  should  have  a  chance  of  showing 
how  dear  his  comjjanion  was  to  him,  in  a  way  that 
neither  of  them  had  ever  expected.  The  village  where 
they  lived  stretched  its  single  street  beside  the  Mahone 
River,  and  the  advent  of  winter  was  always  eagerly 
anticipated  by  the  boys,  because  a  fortnight's  skating 
could  generally  be  enjoyed  before  the  snow  came  to 
cover  up  the  river's  icy  breastplate. 

The  winter  in  which  the  event  about  to  be  described 


1 


144 


HOLD    ON,   HAROLD 


took  place,  began  in  just  the  right  way  to  delight  the 
boys'  hearts,  namely,  with  a  hard  frost  that  in  twenty-four 
hours  froze  the  river  over  firmly  from  shore  to  sho:*^. 
Now    this    frost   came    so    suddenly   and    with    such 
unlooked  for  vigor  as  to  catch  even  so  experienced  a 
navigator   as   Captain    T,Lvi    Corkimi    napping,    so    to 
speak.      His  schooner,  the  taut  and  trim  ' '  Sea  Slipper, 
was  lying  at  Mr.  McKean's  wharf,  getting  in  her  last 
load  of  pickled  fish,  a- tl  he  had  counted  on  a  few  days 
more  of  oi)en  water,    ivhen  saucy  Jack  Frost  had  the 
impertinence  to  offer  a  veto  upon  his  plans. 

Happily,  however,  the  worthy  skipper  was  not  easily 
daunted,  and  before  the  ice  had  time  to  get  too  thick, 
he  hurriedly  completed  preparations  for  the  voyage,  and 
then  set  all  his  crew  and  himself  to  work  cutting  a 
canal  through  which  the  schooner  might  be  worked  out 
into  the  open  water  beyond.  This  "icing  out,"  as  it 
is  called,  proved  successful.  The  ' '  Sea  Slipper' '  before 
nightfall  shook  herself  free  from  her  crystal  fetters  and 
bowled  away  merrily  to  her  destination,  while  the  canal 
was  left  to  freeze  up  again  as  fast  as  it  might,  there 
being  no  further  use  for  it. 

By  morning  the  frost  king  had  done  much  to  repair 
the  damage  wrought  in  his  handiwork.  The  opening 
was  completely  frozen  over,  and  only  the  roughness  of 
its  surface  distinguished  it  from  the  rest  of  the  icr..  At 
the  noon  recess  the  schoolboys  made  for  the  rivorin  a 
body,  and  were  soon  skating  or  sliding  gleefully  over  its 
glistening  surface.  Harold  had  a  fine  pair  of  spring 
skates  which  he  kuew  how  to  use  very  well,  but  Joe  had 


HOLD   OX,   HAROLD 


145 


^•ay  to  delight  the 
hat  in  twenty-four 
m  shore  to  sho:*;. 

and    with    such 
so  experienced  a 

napping,  so  to 
in  "  Sea  Slipper," 
netting  in  her  last 
ited  on  a  few  days 
ick  Frost  had  the 
plans, 
per  was  not  easily 

to  get  too  thick, 
or  the  voyage,  and 
to  work  cutting  a 
ght  be  worked  out 
"  icing  out,"  as  it 
ea  Slipper"  before 
crystal  fetters  and 
on,  while  the  canal 

as  it  might,  there 

ne  much  to  repair 
jrk.  The  opening 
ily  the  roughness  of 
rest  of  the  icr^.  At 
e  for  the  ri\vir  in  a 
ng  gleefully  over  its 
fine  pair  of  spring 
y  well,  but  Joe  had 


to  content  himself  with  sliding,  for  which  his  heavy  hob- 
nailed boots  were  not  especially  adapted. 

At  first  the  boys  carefully  avoided  the  rough  ice 
where  the  passage  had  been  made  for  the  schooner,  but 
as  soon  as  their  spirits  rose  they  became  less  cautious,  and 
several  of  them  ventured  out  upon  it  without  breaking 
in,  although  it  cracked  ominously  under  their  feet. 
Among  those  who  essayed  this  foolish  feat  was  the  bully 
of  the  school.  Hen  Wade  by  name,  and  it  happened 
that  just  as  he  got  safely  back  Harold  Mt;Kean  came  up. 

"There,  Harry,"  called  Ben  exuhingly,  "try  that,  if 
you  dare  ! ' ' 

Huijld's  eyes  flashed  and  his  face  flushed  at  this 
challenge,  for  there  was  something  in  Wade's  tone 
which  implied  that  in  his  opinion  there  was  little  chance 
of  its  acceptance. 

"Of  course  I  dare,"  he  retorted  promptly,  "and 
I'll  do  more  than  you  did  ;  I'll  go  clear  across." 

So  saying  he  drew  ofl"  a  few  yards  and  then  made  a 
dart  for  the  dangerous  spot,  knowing  well  that  the 
greater  his  speed  the  better  his  chance  of  getting  safely 
over.  At  this  moment  Joe,  who  had  been  some  dis- 
tance behind,  came  lumbering  up,  and  seeing  what  his 
friend  was  about  to  attempt  called  out  in  tones  of 
alarmed  entreaty  : 

"Come  back  Harold,  come  back  !  That  ice  won't 
be^r  you." 

But  he  was  too  late  to  stop  the  rash  boy,  who 
redoubled  his  efforts  as  he  heard  the  ice  crack  at  every 
stroke,  and  who  had  almost  gained  the  solid  ice  beyond 

K 


146 


HOLD   ON,   HAROLD 


when  there  was  a  crash,  a  cry  of  terror,  and  in  a 
moment  he  had  vanished  from  sight  through  a  gaping 
chasm  in  which  the  black  water  swirled  and  surged. 

Appalled  at  the  accident,  his  playmates  gathered  as 
close  as  they  dared  to  the  edge  of  the  new  ice,  and 
bent  forward  with  eager,  anxious  eyes,  gazing  at  the 
break  where  their  companion  had  disappeared.  Not 
one  of  them  ventured  to  make  any  attempt  at  helping 
the  imperilled  boy,  whose  head  now  appeared  in  the 
midst  of  the  slippery  fragments. 

But  Joe,  as  he  saw  that  his  friend  had  succeeded  in 
grasping  the  edge  of  a  cake,  thus  keeping  himself 
above  water,  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "Hold 
on,  Harold!  I'm  coming  to  you!"  and  sprang  out 
upon  the  ice  that  bent  and  cracked  beneath  his  weight. 
At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Harold  turned  toward  him, 
and  his  face  lit  up  with  hope. 

"Hold  on  tight,  Harold  !"  Joe  shouted  again  ;  and 
just  at  that  moment  the  treacherous  ice  gave  way  under 
his  feet,  and  down  he  went,  amidst  cries  of  consterna- 
tion from  the  other  boys. 

But  he  did  not  disappear.  Throwing  out  his  arms  to 
their  full  extent,  he  checked  his  descent  by  grasping 
the  ice  on  either  side,  and  then  without  attempting  to 
get  upon  it  again  he  forced  his  way  through  it  to 
Harold.  By  a  tremendous  effort  he  succeeded  in  get- 
ting a  good  grip  upon  a  large  ice  cake  and  thrusting  his 
foot  out  toward  Harold  until  the  latter  was  able  to  seize 
it  with  both  hands,  he  cried  :  "Now,  hold  on,  Harold, 
and  you'll  be  all  right." 


ror,  and  in  a 
aiigh  a  gaping 
id  surged, 
s  gathered  as 
new  ice,  and 
gazing  at  the 
peared.  Not 
npt  at  helping 
peared  in  the 

succeeded  in 
;eping  himself 
voice,  "Hold 
nd  sprang  out 
ith  his  weight. 
;d  toward  him, 

ed  again ;  and 
jave  way  under 
s  of  consterna- 

out  his  arms  to 
;nt  by  grasping 
attempting  to 
through  it  to 
xeeded  in  get- 
id  thrusting  his 
(CLS  able  to  seize 
jld  on,  Harold, 


HOLD    ON,   HAROLD 


147 


The  terrified  boy  did  hold  on  with  the  energy  of  one 
who  knew  life  was  at  stake,  and  the  ice  <  akc  proving 
unetpial  to  the  support  of  the  double  weij^lu  was  about 
to  sink  beneath  the  water,  when  iiapiiily  tliere  appeared 
on  the  scene,  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  two  men  bearing 
planks  which  they  thrust  out  over  the  broken  ice,  so 
that  Joe,  letting  go  of  the  cake,  was  able  to  grasp  one 
of  them  and  be  drawn,  together  with  his  companion, 
back  to  safety. 

Assistance  had  come  not  a  moment  too  soon,  for  poor 
little  Harold  was  unconscious  when  lifted  out  of  the 
chilling  water,  and  Joe  himself  could  hardly  stand 
upon  his  feet.  But  they  were  both  hurried  away  to 
warm  blankets  and  reviving  cordials,  and  ere  long  had 
entirely  recovered  from  their  icy  bath. 

(Ireat,  of  course,  was  the  gratitude  of  Harold  and 
his  parents  for  Joe's  gallant  rescue,  and  loud  were  the 
praises  of  the  people  when  they  learned  of  the  exploit. 
Not  one  of  them  had  ever  imagined  Joe  Himmelman 
capable  of  such  heroism,  and  their  plaudits  were  all  the 
more  hearty  on  that  account. 

It  was  wonderful,  the  difference  this  affair  made  in 
Joe's  life.  Not  only  did  it  cement  more  strongly  the 
friendship  between  himself  and  Harold,  not  only  did  it 
win  for  him  an  influential  benefactor  in  Mr.  McKean, 
who  took  no  small  pains  to  improve  his  circumstances, 
not  only  did  it  secure  him  the  respect  of  those  who  had 
formerly  laughed  at  him,  but  it  wrought  a  marked 
revolution  in  the  boy's  own  mind.  He  no  longer  de- 
spised himself.     He  no  longer  felt  as  if  life  was  not  worth 


148 


HOLD   ON,  HAROLD 


living.  He  had  proven  himself  good  for  something, 
and  what  he  had  done  once  he  could  do  again.  This 
was  the  keynote  to  which  his  life  thereafter  was  set. 
The  older  he  grew  the  more  earnestly  he  strove  to  do 
what  he  saw  to  be  his  duty.  Figuratively  speaking, 
those  words  of  hope  and  cheer,  "Hold  on,  Harold  !" 
came  often  from  his  lips,  and  proved  of  vital  service  to 
those  who  were  exposed  to  sore  temptation  and  who 
by  his  sympathy  and  aid  were  brought  back  to  a  firm 
footing  in  the  path  of  righteousness. 


jr  sonething, 
again.  This 
:aftcr  was  set. 
strove  to  do 
rely  speaking, 
on,  Harold!" 
'ital  service  to 
ition  and  who 
back  to  a  firm 


€irf 


(TV 


BOYS  had  finished  the  preparation 
of  their  lessons  for  the  morrow, 
and  with  lightened  hearts  had 
drawn  their  chairs  up  to  the  fire  for  a  little  chat  before 
going  to  bed.  So  interesting  did  they  find  the  subject 
of  their  talk  that  their  voices  rose  until  they  attracted 
the  attention  of  their  father  reading  in  his  arm-chair 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  he  dropped  his 
paper  to  listen.  He  could  not  help  a  smile  of  mingled 
amusement  and  sympathy  when  he  caught  the  drift  of 
their  discussion. 

The  popular  craze  for  pugilistic  encounter  had  reached 
its  height,  and  the  sporting  columns  of  the  newspapers 
overflowed  with  detailed  accounts  of  thinly  disguised 
prize  fights.  As  a  matter  of  course,  the  little  world  of 
the  schoolboys  emulated  the  bigger  world  of  the  busi- 
ness men  in  its  interest  in  these  brutalizing  contests  of 
the  modern  gladiators,  and  even  went  farther,  for  it  in- 

149 


4 


150 


THE   FALSE  TEST    ANH   THE   TRUE 


dulged  in  realistic  imitations  of  the  struggles  for  su- 
premacy between  the  "featherweights,"  "middle- 
weights,"  and  "heavyweights"  respectively. 

At  Aylmer  Academy,  which  the  boys  rttended,  mat- 
ters had  gone  pretty  far  in  this  direction  without  the 
masters  becoming  aware  of  it.  Several  fiercely  fought 
battles  had  taken  jjlace,  when  one  day  Bill  Hennett,  a 
tall,  sinewy,  scrawny  lad,  with  a  sullen,  truculent  visage, 
who  was  the  recognized  bully  of  the  school,  challenged 
Arthur  Howard,  who  was  the  recognized  dux,  to  fight 
him  for  the  championship. 

Arthur  politely  but  firmly  refused,  even  though  Bill 
sought  to  force  an  issue  by  giving  him  what  the  boys 
call  the  "cowardly  blow,"  and  his  refusal  had  set  his 
companions'  tongues  a-wagging  at  a  wonderful  rate. 

Jack  and  Walter  Per}ey  we.e  doing  their  share  of  the 
discussion  as  they  sat  by  the  fire,  and  seemed  quite 
agreed  as  to  the  humiliation  of  Arthur-  Howard' : 
position. 

"  I  can't  make  him  out,"  said  Jack  earnestly,  as 
though  reluctant  to  believe  the  worst  of  the  recalcitrant, 
"I  never  thought  him  a  bit  of  a  coward,  and  yet  how 
could  he  take  the  cowardly  blow  from  that  hateful  Bill 
Bennett  and  not  fight  him  ?  ' ' 

"That's  so,"  assented  Walter,  who  also  admired 
Arthur  and  disliked  Bennett.  "Now  if  Bill  hadn't 
hit  him  it  mightn't  matter  so  much,  but  after  that  he's 
bound  to  fight  him." 

"Who's  bound  to  fight,  boys?"  inquired  Mr.  Per- 
ley,  coming  over  from  his  end  of  the  room  and  looking 


iggles  for  su- 
,"  "  middle- 
cly. 

ttcnded,  mat- 
1  without  the 
ierccly  fought 
ill  Bennett,  a 
uulent  visage, 
ol,  challenged 
1  liiix,  to  fight 

■n  though  Bill 
,vhat  the  boys 
al  had  set  his 
ierful  rate. 
:ir  share  of  the 
seemed  quite 
hur"  Howard'' 

c  earnestly,  as 
ne  recalcitrant. 
I,  and  yet  how 
lat  hateful  Bill 

I  also  admired 
if  Bill  hadn't 
after  that  he's 

uired  Mr.  Per- 
om  and  looking 


THE   FALSE    TEST    AND   THE   TRUE 


151 


down  into  the  earnest  faces,  which  flushed  before  hia 
gaze  and  showed  distinct  signs  of  perturbation.  "  Tell 
me  all  about  it,"  he  continued,  noticing  their  confu- 
sion ;  "I'm  feeling  cjuite  curious." 

Seeing  no  way  out  of  the  dilemma,  the  boys  toki  the 
whole  story,  and  when  they  had  finished,  Mr.  IVrley 
said  in  a  meaning  tone  : 

"And  so  you  think  Arthur  must  be  a  coward  be- 
cause he  won't  fight  Bill  Bennett  just  to  settle  the 
point  as  to  which  is  the  biggest  bruiser  of  the  two. 
Let  me  tell  you  a  story  that  perhaps  will  lead  you  to 
take  another  view  of  Arthur  Howard's  conduct  than 
you'have  just  committed  yourselves  to." 

The  boys  pricked  up  their  ears  and  drew  their  chairs 
closer  to  the  one  in  which  Mr.  Perley  had  seated  him- 
self 

"You  have  often  heard  me  speak  of  your  great- 
grandfather," he  began,  "and  you  remember  that  he 
was  in  the  British  Navy.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  he 
became  sub-lieutenant  in  the  fine  frigate  '  Cryphon,' 
then  forming  part  of  the  squadron  guarding  the  West 
Indies  from  the  fleets  of  Napoleon.  The  misnamed 
'  code  of  honor '  held  sway  in  those  days  and  duels 
were  of  frequent  occurrence.  Captain  Pinkcm,  of  the 
'Gryphon,'  had  been  'out'  half  a  dozen  times  him- 
self, and  his  ofiicers  were  quick  to  resent  any  fancied 
insult  or  respond  to  any  challenge. 

"  Now  your  great-grandfather  had  been  brought  up 
with  a  keen  horror  of  dueling,  his  mother  having  thus 
lost  her  only  brother  under  peculiarly  sorrowful  circnm- 


152 


THE  F.\IJ!E  TEST  AND  THE  TRUE 


Stances,  and  lie  had  pledged  his  word  to  her  never  to 
take  [)art  as  princijjal  or  second  in  an  affair  of  the  kind. 

"Soon  after  he  joined  the  ship  his  resohition  was 
put  to  the  severest  of  tests.  Among  his  brother  officers 
was  one  named  Hiilstrode,  whom  he  instinctively  dis- 
liked from  the  start  and  who  evidently  reciprocated  the 
feeling. 

"This  Bulstrode  was  a  coarse  creature  of  low,  vicious 
propensities,  and  it  chanced  that  when  the  'dryphon  ' 
iay  at  Kingston,  and  a  number  of  her  officers  were  on 
shore,  your  great-grandfather  came  across  IJiilstrode  in 
a  back  street  trying  to  force  his  unwelcome  attentions 
ui)on  a  pretty  (piadroon,  who  was  vainly  endeavoring  to 
get  away  from  him.  Your  great-grandfather  promptly 
went  to  her  rescue  and  enabled  her  to  escape,  where- 
upon liulstrode,  who  was  partly  intoxicated,  staggered 
off  in  a  frenzy  of  rage,  vowing  that  the  interfercr  in 
his  amusements  would  be  made  to  answer  for  his  pre- 
sumption. 

"That  very  evening  a  formal  challenge  was  handed 
your  great  grandfiither,  with  the  request  that  he  would 
choose  the  weapons  and  appoint  the  time  and  place  of 
meeting. 

"To  the  profound  astonishment  of  his  friends,  he 
quietly  refused  to  do  either  the  one  or  the  other,  and 
all  their  entreaties  and  warnings  failed  to  move  him 
frcm  his  stand.  He  stated  his  reasons  once  for  all,  and 
then  would  have  nothing  further  to  say. 

"The  next  morning  he  found  himself,  as  he  had  ex- 
pected,  tab     ed  by  every  one  on  board.     Even  t"he 


RUE 

)  her  never  to 
ir  of  the  kind, 
rcsohition  was 
)rothcr  officers 
;tinctively  dis- 
ci prorated  the 

of  low,  vicious 
le  '  (Iryphon  ' 
Ificers  were  on 
s  Biilstrode  in 
mie  attentions 
;ndeavoring  to 
.ther  promptly 
.'scape,  where- 
ted,  staggered 
:  interferer  in 
er  for  his  pre- 

;e  was  handed 
that  he  would 
'i  and  place  of 

his  friends,  he 

the  other,  and 

to  move  him 

rice  for  all,  and 

as  he  had  ex- 
d.     Even  the 


THE    FALSE   TEST   AND    THE  TRUE 


153 


common  sailors  seemed  hardly  able  to  conceal  their 
wonder  and  contemjit,  while  Hiilstrode  strutteil  before 
him  for  all  the  world  like  a  vi(  torious  game-cock,  the 
very  personification  of  vulgar  triumph. 

"It  was  a  harrowing  situation  for  a  high-spirited, 
sensitive  man  such  as  your  great-grandfather  was,  and 
he  could  not  have  borne  it  long.  Happily,  however, 
relief  soon  came,  and  in  a  most  unexpected  way.  The 
'  Oryphon  '  had  orders  to  scour  the  sea  between  Jamaica 
and  Cuba  in  search  of  French  privateers.  After  cruis- 
ing about  for  some  time,  she  i)Ut  into  Santiago  de  Cuba 
to  refill  the  water-butts  and  get  some  supplies  and  fruit. 
This  port  fairly  swarmed  with  sharks  of  the  most  vora- 
cious kind,  and  the  sailors  belonging  to  tlK  ships  at 
anchor  were  wont  to  amuse  themselves  catching  the 
monsters  with  shark-hooks  and  torturing  them  to  death. 

"  While  the  '(Jryphon'  lay  at  her  mooring,  one  of 
her  gunners  thought  he  would  have  some  fun  with  a 
shark,  so  baiting  a  hook  he  threw  it  overboard.  In  an 
instant  he  had  a  big  brute  fast  and  walloping  about 
madly  in  the  water.  In  the  excitement  which  followed, 
he  managed  somehow  to  tumble  headlong  overboard. 
As  is  often  the  case  with  seafaring  men,  he  could  not 
swim  a  stroke.  He  floundered  frantically  in  the  water 
while  the  sharks  gathered  menacingly  about,  and  the 
bulwarks  were  lined  with  his  shipmates  shouting  all 
sorts  of  directions,  and  flinging  futile  ropes  and  life 
buoys  that  the  poor  fellow  was  too  bewildered  to  grasp. 

'•Bulstrode  was  the  officer  on  watch,  and  although 
a  fine  swimmer  he  made  no  effort  to  save  the  gunner 


154 


THE    FAI.sk   test    AND    THE   TRUE 


beyond  roarinp;  orders  that  were  mere  waste  1  l)reatli. 
I'here  seemed  every  i)rol>al)ility  of  the  poor  fellow 
being  drowned  or  seized  by  a  shark  before  a  boat  could 
reach  him,  when  your  great-grandfather,  who  was  in 
the  gunroom  reading,  hearing  the  conunotion,  rushed 
up  on  deck.  At  a  single  glance  he  took  in  the  situa- 
tion. Ncu  a  moment  did  he  pause  to  throw  off  his 
coat  or  boots.  Without  a  word  he  leaped  right  into 
the  midst  of  the  merciless  maneaters.  A  few  cpiick 
strokes  brought  him  to  the  struggling  man,  alicuJy  lialf 
drowned.  Thrusting  one  of  the  ropes  into  his  hands, 
he  called  out  to  those  on  the  ship  to  haul  him  up,  and 
the  gunner  was  ([uickly  dragged  out  of  danger. 

"  Not  until  then  did  your  great-grandfather  give  any 
thought  to  his  own  peril.  He  found  himself  surrounded 
by  no  less  than  si.\  huge  sharks,  ready  to  tear  him 
limb  from  limb.  Shouting  and  splashing  with  all  his 
might  he  made  for  the  side  of  the  ship,  where  eager 
hands  were  outstretched  to  help  him.  and  just  as  the 
biggest  of  the  horrid  creatures  charged  upon  him,  he 
was  lifted  out  of  the  water,  safe  from  the  monster's 
teeth. 

"  So  deep  was  the  impression  made  by  the  heroic 
rescue,  that  your  great-grandfather  found  the  tide  of 
feeling  completely  turned.  From  Captain  Pinkem  down, 
every  officer  on  board,  even  the  belligerent  Bulstrode, 
shook  hands  with  him  heartily,  and  having  thus  gloii- 
ously  vindicated  his  courage,  his  stand  in  regard  to 
dueling  was  accepted,  and  he  was  never  troubled  upon 
that  point  again. 


PR  UK 


THE    rAI.SK   TEST    AND    THE  TRUE 


155 


rtiistcl  breath. 
le  poor  iVIlow 
re  a  boat  could 
r,  wlio  was  in 
motion,  rushed 
k  in  the  sitdu- 
I  til  row  off  his 
iped  riglit  into 
A  few  cjuick 
m,  uticuvly  iiaii 
into  his  hands, 
d  him  111),  and 
langer. 

father  give  any 
self  surrounded 
ly  to  tear  him 
ng  with  all  his 
p,  where  eager 
ind  just  as  the 
,  upon  him,  he 
the   monster's 

;  by  the  heroic 
nd  the  tide  of 
1  rinkem  down, 
rent  Bulstrode, 
ving  thus  gloii- 
id  in  regard  to 
troubled  upon 


"And  now,  boys,"  concluded  Mr.  I'erley,  "what 
do  you  think  of  my  story?  lias  it  any  bearing  upon 
what  you  were  discussing?  " 

The  boys  looked  into  the  fire  for  a  moment,  and 
then  the  younger  and  more   inpetuous  replied  : 

"Of  course  it  has,  father,  and  I'm  going  to  stand 
by  Arthur.     I  don't  care  what  the  other  boys  do." 

"  And  so  am  1,"  chimed  in  Jack.  "  He's  liie  best 
fellow  in  the  school,  anyway." 

"  Well  said,  my  boys,"  responded  Mr.  I'erley.  "  Be 
faithful  to  your  friends  in  spite  of  public  opinion.  Some 
day  he'll  show  you  he's  no  coward,  but  ?.  Loy  of  strong 
principle,  ready  to  suffer  for  the  right." 

A  week  later,  when  Mr.  Perley  came  home  from  the 
office  the  boys  greeted  him  with  shouts  of : 

"Right  you  were,  father!  Arthur's  no  coward,  I 
tell  you  !  You  should  have  seen  the  way  he  scjuelched 
Bill  Bennett." 

With  great  enthusiasm  they  proceeded  to  tell  their 
.story.  It  seemed  that  after  school  Bennett  had  been 
bullying  one  of  the  small  boys  who  would  not  give  him 
a  knife  he  coveted,  when  Arthur  Howard  came  up  and 
ordered  him  to  stop  it.  Sneering  out  that  mealy- 
mouthed  cowards  had  better  mind  their  own  business  if 
they  didn't  want  a  licking,  Bill  was  about  to  continue 
his  abuse  of  the  youngster,  when  Arthur  grasped  him 
and  dragged  him  away  from  his  wailing  vii:tim. 

With  an  oath  Bennett  turned  upon  Arthur,  but 
before  the  furious  blow  he  attempted  could  fall,  the 


156 


THE    FALSK   TEST    AND    THE   TRUE 


latter,  wl\ii  was  llu;  licsl  t.u  klcr  in  tin.-  football  team, 
caught  liiiii  anmiul  tlio  wai>t  and  tlimj;  liiin  to  the 
ground  so  lieavily  that  he  lay  there  for  the  best  part  of 
a  minnte,  stunned  and  breathless. 

When  he  did  rii over  his  wits,  all  disposition  to  fight 
had  left  him,  and  growling  something  about  not  fighting 
fair,  he  slunk  off,  Hie  i)i(  ture  of  «leje(  tion  and  defeat. 

".Ml.  my  boys,"  (omnunted  Mr.  Perley,  when  he 
had  heard  the  whole  story,  "now  you  see  the  differ- 
ence between  the  false  and  the  true  test  of  courage. 
I.et  .Arthur  Howard's  way  be  your  way.  and  there's  no 
fear  but  that  you  will  ( ommand  the  respect  of  all  those 
whose  good  opinion  is  worth  possessing." 


4 


TKL'F. 

fodtliall  team, 
11)^  liiiii  to  tlic 
the  best  part  of 

position  to  fight 
loiit  not  ligliting 
in\  and  defeat, 
'erley.  when  he 

see  the  differ- 
est  of  courage. 

and  there's  no 
)cct  of  all  those 


4 


mother!"    exclaimed    Ralph 
\V  el  d  o  n.    lolling'  into  liie 
mom  and  silting  down  in 
oni'    of   the   casyc  hairs 
w  i  t  h    a    1)  u  m  p   that 
threatened  to  dam- 
age the  springs,    "  I 
wish   you  coi.ld  have 
seen    I'atsey    Connora 
diving  off  the  head  of  the 
lumber   wharf.       He's    a    boss 
swimmer,  ami  no  mistake." 
"  And  who  may  I'atsey  C'omiors  be,  Raljih  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  W'eldon,  smiling  indulgently  at  her  eldest  son's 
reckless  ways. 

"  Patsey  Connors?  Ah,  he's  a  boy  that's  always 
about  the  lumber  wharf,  "  answered  Ralph. 

"  Hut  you  know,  Ralph,  I  don't  want  you  to  be 
having  as  a  coi"panion  a  boy  tiiat  1  know  nothing 
about,"  said  Mrs.  Weldon.  "He  might  be  very  bad 
company  for  you." 

"  Patsey  Connors  would  never  do  anybody  harm, 
mother,"   replied  Ralph.      "He's  a  real  nice  boy. " 

157 


IS8 


RALPH    VVELDON  S    RECRUIT 


"Admitting  that  Patsey  is  a  nice  boy,  and  won't  do 
you  harm,  Ralph,"  said  his  mother,  with  a  meaning 
smile,  ' '  will  yoii  do  him  any  good  ?  ' ' 

"  Will  I  do  him  any  good,  mother  ?  "  echoed  Ralph, 
a  bewildered  look  coming  over  his  countenance.  "I 
never  thought  anything  about  that." 

"Well,  but  don't  you  sec,  my  boy,  that  if  you  and 
Patsey  are  much  together  you  must  have  either  a  good 
or  a  bad  influence  upon  each  other,"  jrs.  Weldon  ex- 
plained; "and  so,  if  you  are  sure  t'  ...  ne  cannot  do 
you  any  harm,  I  want  to  know  if  you  are  equally  sure 
that  you  are  doing  him  good?  " 

Ralph  had  not  his  answer  ready.  His  mother's 
question  was  to  some  extent  a  poser.  The  idea  of  his 
doing  his  playmates  any  particular  good  had  never  b  "i 
put  to  him  in  just  that  way  before. 

"For  instance,  Ralph,"  his  mother  went  on,  "do 
you  know  if  Patsey  goe>  to  Sunday-school?" 

Ralph  shook  his  heao  dubiously. 

"  I  never  asked  him,  mother  ;  but  I  feel  pretty  sure 
he  doesn't.  I  guess  he  spends  most  of  his  time  on 
Sundays  down  at  the  lumber  wharf,"  he  answered. 

"  I  suppose  you  never  thought  of  inviting  him  to  go 
to  your  Sunday-school,"  inquired  Mrs.  Weldon. 

Ralph  blushed  a  little  and  fidgeted  in  his  chair. 

"No,  mother,"  he  replied  j  "I  don't  think  he'd 
care  to  come,  anyway." 

"You  don't  know  that  until  you've  tried  him. 
Suppose  you  give  him  the  chance. ' ' 

"Oh,  mother,  his  clothes  are  so  shabby,  you  know; 


RECRUIT 

ce  boy,  and  won't  do 
ther,  with  a  meaning 
d?" 

Iier  ?  "  echoed  Ralph, 
lis  countenance.  "  I 
t." 
boy,  that  if  you  and 
St  have  either  a  good 
ar,"  irs.  W'eldon  ex- 
re  t'  ^.  lie  cannot  do 
f  you  are  equally  sure 

eady.      His   mother's 

ser.     The  idea  of  his 

good  had  never  Ij  "i 

nother  went  on,  "  do 
ly-school  ? ' ' 
f. 
but  I  feel  pretty  sure 

most  of  his  time  on 
rf,"  he  answered. 
of  inviting  him  to  go 

Mrs.  W'eldon. 

ted  in  his  chair. 

"I  don't  think  he'd 

you've   tried    him. 

J  shabby,  you  know ; 


RALPH    WELDON  S    RECRUIT 


159 


and  he's  poor  and  can't  get  any  better  ones,"    pro- 
tested Rali)h. 

"Surely,  my  son  does  not  judge  people  by  their 
clothes!"  said  Mrs.  Weldon,  in  a  tone  of  reproach. 
"Didn't  you  say  I'atsey  was  a  nice  boy  and  a  boss 
swimmer?  If  you're  not  ashamed  to  play  with  him, 
surely  you  would  not  be  ashamed  to  go  to  Sunday- 
school  with  him." 

Again  Ralph  had  no  answer  to  make  ;  and  after  he  and 
his  mother  had  talked  together  for  some  time  longer, 
he  promised  to  do  his  best  to  get  Patsey  to  accompany 
him  to  Sunday-school-  the  very  next  Sunday. 

This  was  on  Friday,  and  the  next  morning  Ralph, 
true  to  his  promise,  gave  Patsey  the  invitation  in  a 
very  pleasant,  cordial  way.  Patsey  was  greatly  sur- 
prised. It  was  ^11  well  enough  for  Ralph  \Veldon,  the 
son  of  the  rich  merchant,  to  go  in  swiniUiing  with  him 
at  the  lumber  wharf,  where  there  was  nobody  to  see, 
but  to  walk  through  the  streets  on  Sunday  with  so 
shabby  a  companion  seemed  quite  a  different  matter  ; 
and  then  besides,  if  Ralph's  friends  at  the  Sunday- 
school  were  all  as  finely  dressed  as  himself,  they  might 
object  to  having  a  i)oor  boy  brought  in  among  them. 

For  these  reasons  and  others  Patsey  was  not  easy  to 
persuade.  P)ut,  having  promised  to  get  him  if  he 
could,  Ralph  was  not  to  be  put  off,  and  in  the  end 
carried  his  point,  for  Patsey  consented  to  go  with  him 
once  at  all  events. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  Sunday,  so  that  they  might 
be   in  their  seats  before  the  rest  of  the  class  arrived. 


flff*" 


1 60 


RAT.PH    WEI.DOX'S    RECRUIT 


liii 


Ralph  called  for  Patsey,  and  they  set  out  together. 
The  poor  little  fellow  had  done  his  best  to  make  a  re- 
spectable appearance.  His  face  and  hands  shone  with 
soap  :  his  clothes  had  been  carefidly  brushed  ;  and  a 
paner  collar,  several  sizes  too  large  for  him,  adorned 
his  neck.  But  his  hat  was  fit  only  for  a  scarecrow,  and 
his  boots  seemed  all  pate  hes.  He  had  no  mother  to 
look  after  him,  and  his  fatlier  was  a  cooper  who  spent 
more  money  on  whisky  than  on  his  boy,  whom  he 
shamefully  neglected. 

Not  even  the  sense  of  satisfaction  at  thi-  doing  of  a 
good  deed  prevented  Ralph  from  feeling  very  conscious 
and  ill  at  ease,  as  in  his  fine  broadcloth  he  walked 
through  the  streets,  meeting  so  many  he  knew,  with  his 
strange  companion.  He  was  very  glad  when  they 
reached  the  handsome  Calvary  Church,  and  made  their 
way  to  the  corner  of  the  Sunday-school  room  where 
Mr.  Tenderley's  class  sat. 

The  teacher  was  already  in  his  place  and  greeted 
Ralph  with  a  winning  smile.  Then  on  Patsey  being 
introduced  he  gave  him  the  heartiest  of  handshakes 
and  a  seat  right  beside  himself. 

"  Pm  very  glad  to  see  you  bringing  in  recruits," 
said  he,  beaming  upon  Ralph  ;  and  then,  turning  to 
Patsey,  -'I  hope  you'll  .ike  our  school  so  much  that 
you'll  be  as  regular  an  attendant  as  Ralph." 

Patsey  fairly  blushed  with  pleasure.  He  quite  forgot 
his  shabby  clothes  in  the  warmth  of  Mr.  Tenderley's 
welcome,  and  did  not  feel  at  all  so  uncomfortable  as  he 
had  expected  he  would  when  the  other  members  of  the 


^*J™ 


[T 


RALPH    WEI.nnN  S    RECKIIT 


i6i 


out  together. 
;t  to  make  a  re- 
iiids  shone  with 
)nished  ;  and  a 
r  him.  adorned 

scarecrow,  and 
,d  no  mother  to 
oper  who  spent 

boy,  whom  he 

the  doing  of  a 
f  very  conscious 
■loth  he  wallceil 
2  knew,  with  his 
;lad  when    they 

and  made  their 
lol   room  where 

ace  and  greeted 

on   Patsey  being 

of  handshakes 

ng  in  recruits," 
then,  turning  to 
)ol  so  much  that 
Iph." 

He  quite  forgot 
Mr.  Tenderley's 
omfortable  as  he 

members  of  the 


class  came  in  and  stared  curiously  at  the  new  addition 
to  their  ranks.  They  were  too  courteous  to  laugh,  as 
he  had  feared  they  would. 

The  lesson  for  the  afternoon  was  about  Zaccheus  and 
his  eagerness  to  see  Jesus.  Mr.  Tenderley  spared  no 
pains  to  make  it  both  intelligible  and  interesting  to 
Ralph's  recruit,  without  singling  him  out  in  any  marked 
way,  and  Patsey  listened  with  eager  eyes  and  open 
mouth.  He  was  sorry  when  the  teaching  ended,  and 
shyly  whispered  to  Ralph  : 

"  Will  there  be  more  about  Jesus  another  day?  I'd 
like  to  come  again. ' ' 

That  was  the  beginning  of  better  times  for  Patsey 
Connors.  Ralph  told  his  father  about  him,  and  Mr. 
Weldon  authorized  his  wife  to  have  the  bov  fitted  out 
in  a  suit  of  clothes  that  would  help  him  to  be  more  at 
his  ease  in  the  Sunday-school.  Lest  his  father  should 
take  them  from  him  to  pawn  for  liquor,  Patsey  was  per- 
mitted to  keep  his  new  clothes  in  Mr.  Weldon's  coach 
house,  whither  he  came  for  them  every  Sunday,  putting 
them  back  again  before  returning  again  to  his  miserable 
home. 

Some  six  weeks  later,  Patsey  in  the  interval  having 
been  faithful  in  his  attendance  upon  the  Sunday-school, 
Mr.  Weldon  one  morning  at  breakfast  looked  up  from 
his  paper  with  the  inquiry  : 

"  Ralph,  what's  the  name  of  that  boy  you  got  to  go 
to  Sunday-school  with  you  ?  ' ' 

"Patsey  Connors,  sir,"  answered  Ralph,  wondering 
why  his  father  asked. 


1 62 


RALPH    WELDON  S    RECRUIT 


I    ii 


"Well,  Ralph,  I  see  he  has  been  distingu.soing  him- 
self in  a  very  enviable  way.  Here  is  haif  a  column 
about  him  in  the  paper." 

Mr.  Weldon  then  went  on  to  renJ  a  graphic  descrip- 
tion of  a  very  gallant  rescue  from  drowning  at  the  lumber 
wharf  the  night  before.  A  steamboat  excursion  had 
landed  at  the  wharf,  which  was  not  ])roperly  lighted. 
A  young  girl,  missing  her  way  in  the  darkness,  had 
stepped  off  the  high  wharf  and  fallen  with  a  scream 
into  the  dock. 

Immediately  all  was  confusion.  No  one  knew  what 
ought  to  be  done,  and  the  girl  would  undoubtedly  have 
been  drowned  l)ut  for  the  heroic  action  of  a  boy  named 
Patsey  Connors,  who  leaped  into  the  dock,  dived  after 
the  girl,  brought  her  to  the  surface,  and  held  her  there 
in  spite  of  lier  frantic  struggles,  until  at  last  lanterns 
and  ropes  vere  brought,  and  both  were  lifted  up  to 
safety  amid  the  cheers  of  the  spectators.  The  account 
closed  with  the  suggestion  that  so  splendid  a  deed 
should  not  be  suffered  to  pass  without  due  recognition. 

The  moment  his  father  finished,  Rali)h,  with  a  whoop, 
snatched  up  his  cap  and  dashed  off  for  Miller's  Alley, 
where  Patsey  lived  in  a  tumble-down  tenement.  He 
found  his  recruit  being  interviewed  by  a  reporter  for  an 
evening  paper,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  get  him  away, 
hurried  him  back  to  his  own  home  and  lirought  him 
straight  into  the  breakfnst  room,  which  his  father  had 
not  yet  left. 

"There,  father,"  said  he  proudly,   "that's  Patsey 
Connors  ! " 


ingu.shing  him- 
haif  a  column 

;ra]iliic  descrip- 
ig  at  the  lumber 

excursion  liad 
operly  lighted. 

darkness,  had 
1  with  a  scream 

one  knew  what 
idoubtedly  have 
of  a  boy  named 
)ck,  dived  after 
[  held  her  there 
at  last  lanterns 
>re  lifted  up  to 
The  account 
ilendid  a  deed 
lue  recognition. 
li,  with  a  whoop, 
r  Miller's  Alley, 
tenement.  He 
1  reporter  for  an 
.  get  him  away, 
id  brought  him 
h  his  father  had 

"that's  Patsey 


RALPH    WEr.D'tNS    RECRUIT 


163 


"Ah,  indeed!"  said  Mr.  Weldon,  looking  kindly 
at  the  blushing,  breathless  boy.  "Come  here  and  let 
me  shake  liands  with  you,  I'atsey.  You've  been  a  \ery 
brave  boy,  and  I  must  see  if  something  caniiut  be  done 
for  you,  for  we  want  such  boys  to  grow  up  into  strong 
and  able  men." 

Very  proud  did  Ralph  feel  of  his  recruit,  and  great 
pains  did  he  take  to  introduce  hiui  to  his  companions 
as  the  hero  of  the  gallant  rescue  at  tiie  lumber  wharf 
Mr.  Weldon  too  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  started 
a  subscription  list  in  his  behalf,  heading  it  with  a  gen- 
erous amount,  and  raised  a  goodly  sum  for  the  purpose 
of  sending  I'atsey  to  school.  Not  only  so.  but  he 
presented  his  case  to  the  Humane  Society,  ami  obtained 
a  beautiful  bronze  medal  for  tiie  little  life-saver,  who 
had  not  dreamed  of  having  such  a  [)re(ious  possession. 

Patsey' s  progress  was  surely  and  steadily  upwanl. 
Under  Mr.  Tenderley's  teaching  he  grew  in  knowledge 
of  the  Saviour,  and  at  his  school  he  learned  so  (piickly 
that  at  the  end  of  a  year  Mr.  Weldon  tliought  him  fit 
for  his  employ  and  gave  him  a  place  as  office  boy  with  a 
promise  of  promotion  in  due  time. 

One  day,  after  all  this  had  taken  place,  Ralph  was 
talking  about  him  to  his  motlier. 

"Do  you  remember  the  (piestion,  Ralph,"  said  she, 
"that  I  asked  you  when  first  you  spoke  of  him  to 
me?" 

"No,  mother.      W'.iat  was  it?'" 

"I  asked  you  if  you  thought  yo.t  were  doing  Patsey 
any  good.      What  would  be  your  an  war  now?  " 


If" 


164 


RALPH    WEI.nON's    RECRUIT 


"Well,  mother,"  answered  Ralph,  "I  don't  know 
whether  I've  done  Patsey  much  good,  but  he  certainly 
has  done  me  good.  And  I'm  very  glad  I  asked  him 
to  come  to  Sunday-school,  for  Mr.  Tenderley  says  he's 
one  of  the  best  boys  in  hi    class." 


IT 


"I  don't  know 
Hit  he  certainly 
ad  I  asked  him 
lerley  says  he's 


(■pN  /hi  tj^  BOYS  in  the  congregation  that 
j^/  y^y.'  filled  Calvary  Cimrch  every  Sun- 
day morning  and  evening,  voted 
Mr.  Brightly  the  best  preacher  they  ever  knew.  'I'his  was 
not  only  because  he  trieil  to  make  every  sermon  inter- 
esting as  well  as  instructive  and  inspiring,  but  becausa 
when  out  of  the  pulpit  he  had  such  a  taking  way  that 
they  never  thought  of  avoiding  him  if  they  saw  him 
coming  up  the  street.  (Jn  the  contrary  they  took  good 
care  to  remain  right  in  his  jjath,  because  they  were  sure 
of  receiving  a  smile  well  worthy  of  the  pastor's  name, 
and  some  pleasant  inquiry  about  their  ])rogress  in  the 
game  they  were  playing — and  Mr.  Brightly' s  knowledge 
of  games  was  by  no  means  to  be  laughed  at.  He  knew 
the  points  and  terms  of  all  of  them  to  perfection,  and 
could  umpire  a  game  of  baseball,  if  necessary,  without 
making  an  error  himself,  however  many  the  excited 
players  might  make. 

When,   therefore,  he  preached  a  sermon  especially 
for  the  boys,  as  he  did  now  and  then,  he  was  sure  of  a 

i6s 


1 1 


l66     COURAGE  AND  COURTESY  OF  A  CHRISTIAN 

most  attentive  auilience,  and  ho  was  wont  to  say  that 
of  all  his  sermons  these  we>e  the  ones  he  most  enjoyed 
preaching. 

His  last  serm.       -»  l^ind  had  been  upon  "The 

Courage  and  C:ou.u;-»  »*1  .  Ihristian,"  the  grand  char- 
acter of  Daniel  ben:  ■  ,  ■•tc.  >nl  as  illustrating  in  a  rare 
degree  both  these  noble  qi;  :  -s  ;  and  upon  none 
among  his  hearers  had  his  earne!,t  wt)rds  more  effect 
than  upon  Percy  Crant,  who  sat  in  a  pew  near  the  pul- 
pit, fairly  hanging  upon  the  preacher's  words. 

Those  three  significant  words,  '•  C'cuirage,"  "Cour- 
tesy," "Christian,^'  repeated  again  and  again  in  the 
sermon,  for  Mr.  Brightly  wishetl  to  impress  them  deeply 
on  his  audience,  fell  into  Percy's  heart  like  seed  into 
the  soil  of  a  well-lilled  garden. 

They  began  to  take  root  at  once,  and  when,  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  sermon,  the  preacher  .asked  all  to 
join  in  singing  the  lamiliar  gospel  song,  "  Dare  to  be  a 
Daniel,"  Percy  i)ut  his  whole  heart  into  the  music.  It 
expressed  a  new-born  but  strong  and  earnest  resolution. 
Thenceforward,  Cod  helping  him.  he,  like  Daniel,  would 
strive  to  show  to  others  the  courage  and  courtesy  of  a 

Christian. 

It  was  not  long  before  his  good  resolution  had  to 
stand  the  test  of  severe  trial.  Among  Percy's  school- 
mates was  a  certain  Tom  PuUen,  whose  rough,  selfish, 
overbearing  ways  made  liim  very  unpopular  with  the 
boys.  Indeed,  they  would  have  had  very  little  to  do 
with  him  were  it  not  that  his  father  was  one  of  the  rich- 
est men  in  the  town  and  owned  a  great  deal  of  prop- 


.s:;--^'i>^^^C^  ■:'-.?*■■-(  ^  *^"'' 


.  -J'--'  re^.-^;  T?^""^'^ 


IRISTIAN 

)nt  to  say  that 
l;  most  enjoyed 

•n  upon  "  Tlie 
the  grand  char- 
rating  in  a  rare 
1(1  u\)on  none 
ds  more  effect 
w  near  the  iml- 
vori's. 

rage,"  "  Coiir- 
d  again  in  the 
CSS  them  deeply 
t  like  seed  into 

d  when,  at  the 
er  .asked  all  to 
"  Dare  to  be  a 
5  the  music.  It 
rnest  resolution, 
■ic  Daniel,  would 
id  courtesy  of  a 

;solution  had  to 
Percy's  school- 
e  rough,  selfish, 
opular  with  the 
very  little  to  do 
;  one  of  the  rich- 
at  deal  of  prop- 


COUP.AGE  AND  COURTESY  OF  A  CHRISTIAN       1 67 

erty.  In  one  corner  of  his  estate  was  a  field  particu- 
larly well  suited  for  baseball,  and  Mr.  Uullen  permitted 
it  to  be  used  for  that  purpose. 

There  was  no  other  field  in  this  neighborhood  big 
enough  for  a  proper  game,  and  consecpiently  the  boys 
had  to  put  up  widi  lom  in  order  to  have  the  use  of  iiis 
father's  field. 

The  Saturday  afternoon  following  the  sermon  on 
Daniel,  there  was  a  baseball  match  arranged  between 
the  Kast  Knd  and  West  I'lnd  boys.  Percy  would  have 
been  on  the  West  ImkI  nine,  only  that  during  the  week 
he  unluckily  had  a  finger  hurt  so  badly  that  he  could 
not  play.  They  therefore  made  him  umpire,  his  repu- 
tation for  fair  play  being  beyond  cavil,  'lom  IJuUen 
was  <  aplain  of  the  Kast  End  nine. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  excitement  felt  among  the 
boys  about  the  game.  Two  matches  had  been  pre- 
viously played  between  the  sane  teams,  each  team  win- 
ning one.  l"he  third  would,  tnerefore,  settle  the  cpies- 
tion  as  to  whether  the  l-^ast  lenders  or  the  West  End- 
ers  were  the  better  players. 

At  three  o'clock  sharp,  Percy  called  the  game  ;  the 
West  Enders  went  to  the  bat,  and  the  struggle  com- 
menced. 

The  playing  was  excellent  on  both  sides,  and  the 
game  jjromised  to  be  a  very  keen  one.  Percy  had 
many  close  decisions  to  make,  but  such  perfect  confi- 
dence was  felt  in  his  impartiality  that  nothing  he  said 
was  questioned  until  the  West  lenders  began  to  draw 
ahead  of  their  opponents.     Then  Bullen  showed  signs 


11 


1 68      COURAGE  AND  COURTICSV  OK  A  CHRISTIAN 

of  a  disposition  to  dispute  Percy's  decisions  and  to  in- 
dulge in  sonic  ''kicking." 

His  bluster,  however,  had  no  effect  on  the  young 
umpire,  who  continued  to  do  his  duty  to  the  best  of 
his  ability.  His  quiet  firmness  irritated  Tom  even 
more  than  two  adverse  decisions,  and  the  rough  fel- 
low's temper  rose  until  it  only  needed  some  sort  of  an 
excuse  to  burst  forth  into  fury. 

I'his  excuse  came  when  the  game  had  reached  the 
sixth  inning.  The  West  lenders  finished  their  half 
with  the  score  standing  vt  seven  runs  to  four  in  their 
favor.  Then  Bullen's  nine  took  the  bat.  The  first 
struck  out,  but  the  second  hit  a  long  fly  over  the  center- 
field's  head  that  gave  him  a  home  run.  The  third,  in 
trying  to  imitate  him.  was  cleverly  caught  by  second 
base.  With  two  men  out  and  two  runs  to  tie  the  score, 
'I'om  Bullen  faced  the  pitcher.  He  looked  so  fiercely 
in  earnest  as  to  ipiite  disconcert  Charlie  Warren,  and 
in  consecpience  was  given  his  base  on  balls. 

Ned  Masson  was  the  next  batsman.  After  allowing 
two  strikes  to  be  called  upon  him,  he  got  just  the  ball 
he  wanted,  and  sent  it  flying  far  into  the  left  field.  It 
was  a  good  three-baser,  and  Tom  at  once  started  to 
run  home.  He  was  a  slow  base-runner,  but  Ned  was 
the  fastest  on  either  team,  and  in  his  eagernes.4  to  score 
he  overran  third  base  without  glancing  amund  to  see 
where  the  ball  was,  and  so  came  close  upon  Tom's 

heels. 

The  ball  had  been  a  ell  fielded  and  was  now  on  its 
way  to  the  catcher.     The  East  Enders  roared  out  en- 


RISTIAN 

3ns  and  to  in- 

on  the  young 
to  the  best  of 
xl  Tom  even 
the  rough  fel- 
anie  sort  of  an 

d  reached  the 
led  their  half 
0  four  in  their 
mt.  The  first 
iver  thecenter- 
The  third,  in 
ght  by  second 
o  tie  the  score, 
iked  so  fiercely 
ie  Warren,  and 
lis. 

After  allowing 
A  just  the  ball 
e  left  field.  It 
jnce  started  to 
r,  but  Ned  was 
^ernes.!  to  score 
;  arr>and  to  see 
ie  upon  Tom's 

was  now  on  its 
roared  out  en- 


COURAC.E  AND  COURTESY  OF  A  CHRISTIAN       I69 

couragement  to  the  two  base-runners  who,  straining 
every  nerve,  strove  to  beat  the  white  sphere  to  the 
home  plate. 

The  catcher,  with  hands  outS])read  and  foot  on  the 
plate,  had  eyes  only  for  the  ball ;  but  I'crcy  ( jrant,  a  few 
feet  behind  him,  was  watching  both  ball  and  runners. 
With  a  smart  smack  the  ball  fell  into  the  catcher's 
hands  just  as  Bullen  flung  himself  forward  on  a  des- 
perate dive.  The  next  instant  the  cat(  her  bent  down 
and  touched  Tom  on  the  shoulder,  while  Ned  Masson 
sprang  past  him  and  crossed  the  plate  in  safety. 

Tom's  arm  was  stretched  out  to  its  fullest  extent,  and  . 
two  fingers  were  upon  the  plate.      If  they  were  there 
before  the  ball  touched  his  shoulder  he  was  safe,  and 
the  score  was  tied. 

Instantly  there  was  a  tremendous  uproar.  One  party 
shouted  "Out  !"  The  other  party,  headed  by  Tom, 
shouted  "Safe  !  safe  !  "  with  all  their  might  and  main. 
Percy  had  given  his  decision  at  the  moinent,  but  no 
one  had  heard  it. 

At  length  there  came  a  lull,  and  the  West  End  cap- 
tain was  able  to  make  himself  heard. 

"What's  your  decision,  Percy?"  he  asked. 

"  Out  at  the  home  plate,"  answered  Percy  promptly. 

"What's  that  you  say?  "  cried  Bullen,  blustering  up 
to  him.  "You're  crazy  !  I  was  no  more  out  than 
Ned.  Payne  didn't  touch  me  till  I  had  my  whole 
hand  on  the  home  plate." 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  agree  with  you,"  answered  Percy 
quietly ;  while  the  other  boys,  scenting  a  rumpus,  lis- 


mr 


"ril^'-tii^Birilmf  ""j  I     "  ■  — ;-'^i^='-^i"" 


I 


I/O     COURAOE  AN[)  COURTESY  OF  A  CHRISTIAN 

tcnud  eagerly  for  his  reply.  "I  am  unite  cerlain  yon 
were  out." 

Witli  a  coarse  oath  Uullen,  his  laiT  flaming  with 
anger,  ste|)i)e(i  nearer  and,  sliai^ing  ills  list  in  the  um- 
pire's lace,  siionteil  :  "I  wasn't  out  ;  you  know  1 
wasn't  I  Yon  want  to  t'avor  yonr  i«\mi  side.  N'on're 
a  mean,  sneaking  dieat,  that's  wiiat  )ou  are  1  " 

At  tile  word  "  dieat  "  a  llusli,  almost  as  red  as  that 
on  I'um's  fact;  spread  over  I'eny's  countenance,  and 
his  hands  clenched  themselves  into  hard  fists.  No  boy 
had  a  keener  sense  of  honor  than  lie.  i'or  that  very 
reason  he  had  been  clioseii  umi)ire.  i'he  liateful  word 
stung  him  t.)  tlie  ipiic  k.  Vet  i)>  a  very  great  etlorl  he 
managed  to  s(j  control  himself  as  to  answer  firmly  : 

"  I'm  not  a  cheat,  Tom,  and  I  ilon't  want  to  favor 
my  own  side.  Vou  were  dearly  out,  and  that  is  all 
about  it."  And  he  moved  as  if  he  would  turn  his 
back  upon  the  other. 

Tom's  fury  then  rose  to  a  white  heat.  "  Vou  are  a 
cheat  !"  he  roared,  "and  I'll  knock  you  down  if  you 
say  anothei  word." 

Percy  turned  and  faced  Tom  with  flashing  eyes,  but 
tight-shut  lips. 

"There  !"  .shrieked  Tom.  now  (juito  beside  himself 
with  rage.  "Take  that  !  'Chat's  the  (owardiy  blow  !" 
.•\nd  before  Percy  could  ward  it  o((,  he  received  a 
sharj)  slaj)  on  his  right  cheek. 

Instantly  his  face  grew  wliite.  except  where  a  red 
mark  showed  the  jjlace  of  the  Iilow.  He  raised  his 
flst  to  strike,  >vliile  Uullen  put  himself  in  a  [josture  of 


I 


IRISTIAN 

ilc  certain  yon 

!  flaming  with 

list  in  the  II 111- 

yoii    know    I 

side.      Noil' re 

are  !" 

;  as  red  as  that 
mtenance,  and 

fists.      No  lioy 

For  that  very 
le  hateful  word 
great  ellorl  he 
'er  firmly  : 
t  want  to  favor 
and  that  is  nil 
voiild   turn   hii> 

"  Voii  are  a 
)ii  down  if  you 

shing  eyes,  but 

beside  himself 
vvardiy  blow  ! " 
he  received  a 

t  where  a  red 
He  raised  his 
n  a  posture  of 


COURAOE  AND  COURTJCSV  OT  A  CHRISTIAN       I/I 

defense.  Hut  instead  of  striking,  he  suddenly  checked 
himself  .mil  let  his  iiaiid  fall  at  iiis  side.  .\s  if  whis- 
l)ered  by  his  good  angel,  Mr.  Itrighlly's  words,  "  the 
( ourtesy  and  courage  ot  a  I'luistian,"  liail  come  into 
his  mind  and  saved  him  from  the  disgrace  of  an  un- 
seemly brawl.  He  steiiped  back  and  the  boys  began 
to  talk  again  in  their  e.xcitemeiil. 

At  the  sainc  moment  a  rich,  manly  voice  mad*'  it^t'lf 
heard  bcliind  him,  exclain.'Ug  in  a  tone  of  surprised 
inquiry,  "Why,  boys,  what's  the  meaning  of  this?  I 
came  to  see  a  game  of  baseball,  not  a  prize  figlit. " 

I'ercy  wheeled  about,  and  as  he  found  himself  face 
to  fare  with  Mr.  Ihightly,  his  first  thought  was,  "Oh, 
how  thankful  I  am  that  1  di<l  not  hit  bac  k  I  " 

When  the  minister  learned  how  the  matter  stood,  he 
gathered  the  boys  about  him. 

"Hoys,"  said  he,  in  his  most  winning  tone,  "it  is 
not  half  so  hard  to  preach  as  it  is  to  practise,  and  I 
want  to  say  to  you  that  your  playmate  Percy  has 
taught  you  better  by  his  example  this  afternoon  than 
I  could  have  by  preaching  from  my  pulpit.  You  all 
know  him  too  well  to  believe  for  one  moment  tliat 
he  would  deliberately  (heat,  and  by  controlling  his 
temper  and  taking  a  blow  rather  than  fight,  and  so 
daring  to  run  the  risk  of  being  called  a  coward,  he  has 
shown  to  you  that,  far  from  being  a  coward,  he  pc>s- 
sesses  tlie  highest  kind  of  courage.  I  am  piDud  to 
have  such  boys  in  my  congregation.  T,et  us  all  try, 
boys,  wherever  wc  are,  to  show  to  others  ■  the  courtesy 
and  the  courage  of  a  Christian.'  " 


I 


!l"' 


iM 


■  ii 


172      COURAfiE  AND  COURTESY  OF    \  CHRISTIAN 

The  moment  he  finished,  the  boys  of  thei;  own  ac- 
cord broke  into  three  cheers  for  Percy  (-rant,  and  three 
more  for  t!:e  minister,  and  it  was  long  before  any  of 
them  forgot  the  ev-  nts  of  that  afternoon  or  the  meaii' 
ing  of  true  courage. 


#    -^- 


CHRISTIAN 


^'s  of  thei;   own  a( 
:y  ('-rant,  and  three 
long  before  any  of 
noon  or  the  mean 


— ^5^p ^^ — 


r;^  O  you  believe  that?" 
asked  Hub  Barnard 
of  Carl  Starratt,  pointing  to 
a  very  highly  colored  poster, 
which  bore  the  picture  of  a  man 
in  tights  flying  through  the  air 
head  downward,  toward  a  netting 
stretch.d  ready  to  receive  him.  The  poster  was  en- 
titled :  "The  Leap  for  Life!  Peynaud,  the  Cloud 
Flyer,  in  his  thrilling  dive  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  !"  and  so  on,  in  the  usual  extravagant  language 
of  the  circus  handbill. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  answered  Carl  promptly. 
"Father  says  it's  all  true;  and  they're  building  the 
tower  out  at  the  fair  ground  now  for  Peynaud  to  jump 
from." 

"You  don't  tell  me  !"  said  Hub  half  incredulously. 
"And  is  the  tower  really  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
high?  Why,  that's  every  bit  as  high  as  our  church 
stcople. " 

' '  One  hundred  and  fifty  feet  ever/  inch  of  it, ' '  re- 

173 


174 


A  GREAT  DEAL  OF  NERVE 


plied  Carl,  proud  of  the  certainty  of  his  knowledge  ; 
for  his  father  was  one  of  the  directors  of  the  fair,  and 
he  had  heard  him  describing  the  tower  to  his  mother. 

"  Well,  '  can  hardly  believe  il  until  1  see  it,  and  I'll 
take  good  care  to  see  it,  I  tell  you  !"  returned  Hub. 
"How  many  times  is  he  going  to  jump?  " 

"  Every  afternoon  at  three  o'clock  while  the  fair 
lasts,  bo  you  can  be  sure  of  seeing  him,"  Carl  an- 
swered. 

"That's  good!  I  won't  miss  him  if  I  know  my- 
self" 

The  fair  took  place  the  following  week,  and  all  De- 
potville  was  agog  with  eagerness  to  see  the  wonderful 
"cloud  flyer,  in  his  thrilling  leap  for  hfe." 

His  part  of  the  programme  was  of  course  only  an 
extra  attraction,  the  main  purpose  of  the  fair  being  to 
exhibit  at  their  best  the  agricultural  and  industrial  pos- 
sessions and  products  of  the  surrounding  country.  But 
it  must  be  confessed  that  there  v.as  far  more  interest 
taken  in  Peynauas  tower  than  in  ihe  sleek,  shiny 
cattle  or  plethoric  pumpkins. 

This  tower  was  rude  enough  in  construction,  being 
simply  an  open-work  affair  of  unplaned  scantling,  but 
it  looked  very  lofty  and  impressive  notwithstanding, 
particularly  as  a  place  to  jump  from. 

Hub  and  Carl  were  well  to  the  front  in  the  crowd 
that  gathered  about  its  base  on  the  first  afternoon  of 
the  fair,  and  they  both  felt  their  hearts  in  their  mouths 
when  Peynaud  ajjpeared  clad  in  crimson  tights,  and 
after  bowing  to  the  appl '.uding  spectators  proceeded  to 


A  GREAT  DEAL  OF  NERVE 


175 


s  knowledge  ; 
f  the  fair,  and 
3  his  mother, 
see  it,  and  I'll 
eturned  Hub. 

ivhile  the  fair 
im,"  Carl  an- 

■  I  know  my- 

:,  and  all  De- 

the  wonderful 
1 1 

:ourse  only  an 
e  fair  being  to 
industrial  pos- 
country.  But 
•  more  interest 
;  sleek,    shiny 

Tuction,  being 

scantling,  but 

itwithstanding, 

t  in  the  crowd 
St  afternoon  of 
ri  their  mouths 
on  tights,  and 
i  proceeded  to 


uiount  the  tower,  amid  the  breathless  silence  that 
settled  down  upon  the  gaping  multitude.  Very  delib- 
erately the  daring  gymnast  made  the  ascent,  and  when 
he  reached  the  summit,  stood  upon  the  little  platform 
for  a  few  minutes  looking  unconcernedly  about  him. 

"What  nerve  he  must  have  !  "  exclaimed  Hub,  his 
own  heart  throbbing  at  a  rate  that  would  have  im- 
l)eriled  his  balance  had  he  been  standing  in  Peynaud's 
place.      "  I  wish  I  was  brave  enough  to  do  it." 

"  Sh .      He's  going  to  jump  !  "  exclaimed  Carl, 

gripping  Hub's  arm  tightly. 

Extending  from  the  foot  of  the  tower  for  about  fifty 
feet  was  a  very  strong  netting,  held  up  by  big  posts. 
In  the  center  of  this  netting  was  a  mattress.  Aiming 
straight  at  this  white  patch  Peynaud  bent  forward. 
The  spectators  were  hushed  into  perfect  silence.  Then 
a  simultaneous  gasp  broke  from  them.  Peynaud, 
straightening  his  legs,  had  shot  out  into  space.  Like 
a  flash  of  flame  he  flew  through  the  air,  head  down- 
ward, u'Uil  within  twenty  feet  of  the  net.  Then,  by  a 
cpiick  m'>yement,  he  turned  half  over,  so  as  Vo  strike 
the  mattress  with  his  broad  shoulders  first.  Like  a 
rubber  ball  he  bounded  up  into  the  air  and,  coming 
down  upon  his  feet,  bowed  gracefully  to  the  crowd, 
while  a  hurricane  of  applause  testified  to  the  success  of 
his  performance. 

Hub  gave  a  very  graphic  description  of  the  feat  to 
his  mother  that  evening,  and  wound  up  with  :  "What 
a  brave  man  Peynaud  must  be  !  He  must  have  a  great 
deal  of  nerve  to  take  such  a  jump  as  that." 


1 


IB  ; 


11' 


176 


A   GREAT    DEAL   OF   NERVE 


if 


ill  m 

\w 


1' 
111 


'II I 


"  No  doubt  he's  brave,  Hub  ;  yet  I  can't  spy  I  have 
any  admiration  for  what  he  does,"  answered  Mrs. 
Barnard.  "It  seems  to  me  nothing  but  a  piece  of 
foolhardiness  that  ought  not  to  be  allowed.  What 
good  does  it  do  to  anybody?  There  are  far  better 
ways  of  showing  nerve  than  that,  dear." 

"I  suppose  there  are,  mother,"  responded  Hub, 
his  enthusiasm  somewhat  dampened  by  his  mother's 
words.  ' '  But  I  think  it  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  do, 
all  the  same." 

The  town  of  Depotville,  in  which  Hub  Barnard 
lived,  was  a  railway  center  of  considerable  importance. 
One  could  hardly  walk  half  a  mile  in  any  direction 
without  coming  to  a  crossing,  and  as  the  trains  were 
darting  to  and  fro  over  the  tracks  at  all  hours,  day  and 
night,  this  state  of  affairs  caused  no  small  inconvenience 
to  the  inhabitants,  and  accidents  were  not  unknown. 

A  week  after  Hub  had  seen  Peynaud's  thrilling  dive 
he  was  hurrying  from  school  to  the  football  field  when 
he  came  to  a  railway  crossing,  where  there  were  several 
tracks  side  by  side.  Upon  one  of  them  a  number  of 
empty  cars  had  been  shunting,  shutti  ig  out  t'  view  in 
that  direction.  As  he  ran  along  th(>  -kU-'v  ;'k  he 
caught  sight  of  a  train  rusiung  up  {vm->  '.'•.  Jght, 
but  calculated  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  pass  in  front 
of  it,  so  he  kept  on  through  the  gate  and  out  on 
the  crossing.  He  did  pass  that  train  safely,  but  failed 
to  see  another  approaching  swiftly  from  the  left  until  it 
was  right  upon  him.  With  a  cry  of  horro  •  he  threw 
himsalf   backward  and,   had  his  foot  not  slipped,  he 


I't  s?y  I  have 
iswered  Mrs. 
ut  a  piece  of 
)wed.  What 
ire  far  better 

ponded  Hub, 

his  mother's 

il  thing  to  do, 

Hub  Barnard 
e  importance, 
any  direction 
lie  trains  were 
lOurs,  day  and 
inconvenience 
it  unknown. 
5  thrilling  dive 
)all  field  when 
e  were  several 
n  a  number  of 
»ut  t'  view  in 
sidewn'k  he 
om  th<-  -ight, 
)  pass  in  front 
e  and  out  on 
fely,  but  failed 
he  left  until  it 
irrv."  he  threw 
ot  slipped,  he 


A   GREAT    DEAL   OF    NERVE 


^// 


would  have  escaped.  Unhappily  he  tripped  on  the 
rail  and  fell  flat  with  his  left  foot  inside  the  rails.  Ik- 
fore  he  could  withdraw  it  the  express  train  thundered 
down  upon  it,  crushing  mercilessly  through  bone  and 
sinew.  When  it  had  passed  Hub's  foot  hung  to  iIk 
leg  by  a  mere  riubon  of  mangled  flesh. 

Kind  hands  quickly  bore  him  to  an  adjoining  house, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  a  surgeon  arrived.  Fearful  as 
was  his  suffering,  Hub  '.ever  uttered  a  cry  nor  lost 
consciousness  for  a  moment.  When  they  asked  where 
he  lived  he  an>\vered  at  once,  but  added  (juickly  : 

'Don't  send  word  home;  mother  would  be  too 
frij;,  iA,;ned.  It  will  be  time  enough  to  tell  her  when 
yo'i  lake  me  there." 

irie  was  the  only  son  of  his  mother  and  she  was  a 
^Yidow.  Kven  in  the  midst  of  his  agony  he  had  fore- 
thought for  her  and  would  spare  her  the  shock  of  see- 
ii  s:  him  before  his  injuries  had  received  attention. 
H:>  wishes  were  obeyed,  and  the  surgeon  hastened  to 
complete  the  amputation  begun  by  the  i)itiless  car- 
whteis.  To  his  dismay  there  was  no  chloroform  at 
hand  and  no  time  could  be  spared  to  send  for  it. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Hub,  in  a  steady  voice.  "I 
can  stand  it  without  chloroform." 

And  stand  it  he  did  without  a  quiver,  until  the  work 
was  done  and  the  bandaging  finished,  and  then  he 
fainted  away  just  as  he  heard  the  surgeon  saying  to 
him,  in  tones  of  warm  admiration  : 

"You' re  a  hero  !    I  never  saw  better  nerve  in  my  life." 

An  hour  later  he  was  comfortably  settled  in  his  own 

M 


178 


A    (iREAT    DEAL   OV    NERVE 


rorom  at  home,  liis  mother  sitting  beside  him  arid  hold- 
ing ills  hand  as  lie  described  iiow  the  accident  had 
happened,  and  iiow  i<inu  llie  people  were  to  him. 

"  Hut  why  ditln't  you  have  me  sent  for  immeiUately, 
Hub  darling?"  asked  iMrs.  liarnard,  whose  tear-stained 
face  showed  how  deeply  she  felt  the  trouble. 

"  Hccause,  mother  dearest.  1  knew  what  a  shock  it 
would  be  if  you  saw  me  before  the  surgeon  fixed  me 
up  ;  and  I  thought  it  was  better  for  you  not  to  know 
until  liiey  brought  me  home,"  answered  Hub. 

Mrs.  Harnard  bent  down  and  covered  his  jiale  face 
with  loving  kisses.  "  And  so  you  thought  of  your  poor 
mother  in  the  midst  of  all  your  pain,"  she  said,  in 
tones  of  tender  pride.  "Do  you  know,  Hub,"  she 
continued,  ".vhnt  I  have  been  thinking  of  as  I  lis- 
tened to  you  f  You  seemed  to  think  that  that  foolisli 
acrobat  siiowed  a  great  deal  of  nerve  in  jumping  from 
the  top  of  his  tower,  but  I  thi-iic  that  my  boy  showed 
far  more  and  far  better  nerve  in  remembering  his 
mother  and  seeking  to  spare  her  feelings  although  he 
was  all  the  while  in  dreadful  pain  himself" 

A  blush  of  joy  spread  over  flub's  countenance  and 
a  happy  smile  played  about  his  lips  as  he  said  : 

"I'm  so  glad  you  think  so,  mother.  I  do  want  to 
be  always  brave,  and  the  surgeon  said  that  he  never 
saw  b  tter  nerve  in  his  life  than  I  showed  during  the 
operation.  But  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  do  what  Peynaud 
did,  all  the  same." 

"Yet  yoi;  were  tl,c  biaver  of  the  two,  dear,"  re- 
sponde-]  M:,>-\  Rnrnard 


UiiL 


I]^^^^?>^ 


im  arid  hold- 
iccident  had 
to  liini. 
immciliatoly, 
e  tear-stained 
le. 

at  a  shock  it 
eon  fixed  me 
1  not  to  know 
l-iub. 

his  jiale  face 
of  your  poor 
she  said,  in 
,  Hub."  she 
;  of  as  I  hs- 
it  that  foolish 
jum]>ing  from 
y  boy  showed 
emberifig  his 
j  although  he 

ntenance  and 
said  : 

I  do  want  to 
that  he  never 
id  during  the 
vhat  Peynaud 

I'o,  dear,"  re- 


lUCH  a 

winter  as  it 
was  !  Scjuire  Chis- 
hoim,  who  took  much  pride 
in  an  untjuestioned  title  to  the  honor  of 
being  the  "oldest  inhabitant,"  would 
/  shake  his  snow-white  head  as  he  gave 
igain  and  again  that  in  all  Ills  recollec- 
that  was  saying  a  good  deal,  you  know — 
there  had  never  been  before  so  extraordinary  a  season. 
'J'he  -jxtraordinary  part  of  it  was  this  :  tiiat  although 
the  colli  came  right  enough,  and  Jack  Frf)st  bound  up 
the  stream*  and  ponds  and  lakes  and  rivers  in  his 
gleaming  fetters  of  ice  and  turned  the  ground  into  iron, 
the  snow,  which  most  of  us  think  to  be  the  best  thing 
about  winter,  its  redeeming  feature  so  to  speak,  did 
not  come  also ;  or  when  it  did,  it  was  in  such  small 
quantities  as  to  be  of  no  practical  benefit.  Now  and 
then  there  would  be  a  Hurry,  and  the  hearts  of  the 
boys  that  were  lamenting  the  loss  of  coasting,  snow- 
balling, and  tobogganing,  would  be  filled  with  hope; 
but  it  would  prove  nothing  more  than  a  flurry,   and 

179 


^^v>^jij."i5WVi* 


[80 


A    I'AIR    OF   ;iKATlii5    AND    A    HUKI.ICY 


III 


\  I'si 


Ld 


1; 

iUL— — 


after  about  a  handful  of  white  dust  had  fallen,  the  sup- 
ply would  cease  and  the  boys  return  to  their  lamenta- 
tions. 

They  had  only  one  source  of  consolation,  and  of 
this  they  made  the  most ;  the  skating  was  simply  superb. 
Every  pond  had  become  a  mirror  tiiat  flaslied  the  sun- 
shine merrily  back  in  their  faces  and,  better  still,  the 
South  River,  which  came  from  away  up  the  country  in 
a  placid,  lovely  stream,  and  then,  just  before  losing 
itself  in  the  great  ocean,  spread  out  into  a  broad  and 
beautiful  expanse  they  called  the  harbor,  this  South 
River  that  the  boys  loved  almost  as  though  it  were  a 
Uving  thing,  wound  along  between  its  banks  wearing  a 
crystal  breastplate  the  eciual  of  which  not  even  the 
squire  had  ever  seen  before.  I'lom  the  harbor  as  far 
up  inland  as  anybody  had  explored,  the  ice  was  beyond 
reproach  ;  and  how  the  boys  of  Upper  South  River, 
Lower  South  River,  and  the  other  little  villages  scat- 
tered along  its  banks  did  appreciate  it. 

"It's  a  good  thing  that  there's  such  fine  skating, 
since  w  can't  do  anything  else,"  remarked  Charlie 
Wilkie  to  his  chum,  Frank  Hill,  one  day. 

"Yes,  indeed!  "  answered  Frank  ;  "  we  fellows  would 
have  a  precious  stupid  time  of  it  if  the  ice  wasn't  so 
fine.  I  do  wish  the  snow  would  come,  though.  I'm 
getting  rather  tired  of  skating." 

"Oh,  I'm  not,"  said  Charlie.  "I've  learned  such 
a  lot  of  didos  this  winter,  and  if  the  skating  holds  out, 
I'll  have  the  double  locomotive  perfect  before  the  win- 
ter's over." 


IKY 

Icn,  the  sup- 
icir  lamenta- 
tion, and  of 
lujily  siiperl). 
lied  the  sun- 
tter  still,  the 
e  country  in 
)efore  losing 
a  broad  and 
,  this  South 
igh  it  were  a 
iks  wearing  a 
lot  even  the 
harbor  as  far 
i  was  beyond 
South  River, 
villages  scat- 
fine  skating, 
irked  Charlie 

fellows  would 
ice  wasn't  so 
;hough.      I'm 

learned  such 
ng  holds  out, 
jfore  the  win- 


A    I'AIK    OF   SKATES    AND    A    HUKI.EV 


l8l 


"  All  well  enough  for  you,  Charlie,"  Krank  replied 
somewhat  ruefully.  "  You  seem  to  take  lo  skating  like 
a  duck  to  water,  while  as  for  ]K)or  me,  if  I  ever  learn 
to  do  the  Dutch  roll  backward  decently,  it  will  be  a 
wonder." 

"Nonsense,  Frank,"  said  Charlie  laughing.  "You 
will  learn  all  rigiit.  Come  along  now  and  have  another 
try  at  the  single  grapevine.  You  really  must  get  the 
better  of  that  this  winter." 

So  the  two  friends  went  off  for  their  skates,  and  soon 
♦  afterward  were  spinning  over  the  ice  like  a  pair  of  birds. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  truth  i.i  the  compliment 
.  Frank  had  just  paid  Charlie.  He  did  seem  to  take 
naturally  to  skating,  and  already,  although  only  a  little 
over  fifteen,  could  go  faster  and  do  more  dil'ti.  iilt 
things  than  any  other  boy  on  the  river.  In  fact,  he 
was  ([uite  a  hero  among  his  companions  and  was  gener- 
ally leader  in  tl-  •  sports  they  had  on  the  ice,  such  as 
hockey,  hamca,  b.  ste  the  bear,  and  so  forth. 

Hockey  was  a  favorite  game  with  the  South  River 
boys.  They  played  it  every  afternoon  and  all  day 
Saturday,  and  never  seemed  to  weary  of  it.  (Generally 
on  Saturday  afternoons  they  would  have  a  match  be- 
tween the  Piasters  and  Westers — that  is,  between  those 
who  lived  on  the  east  and  those  on  the  west  bank  of 
the  river.  The  teams  being  pretty  evenly  matched,  a 
great  deal  of  interest  was  taken  in  these  contests.  On 
fine  afternoons  there  would  be  a  crowd  of  onlookers, 
and  the  whole  valley  would  ring  with  cries  of  the  play- 
ers and  the  shou*;s  of  the  spectators.     Charlie  Wilkie, 


182 


A    PAIR   or   SKATluS    AND    A    HURLEY 


bciny  not  less  cxpt-rl  \vitl\  l\is  liiirloy  than  with  his 
skates,  of  loursc  taptainol  one  bide,  the  West,  the  other 
captain  l)eing  iUiciiey  liillings,  an  overgrown  chap  who 
was  intlined  to  be  a  bit  of  a  bully  if  he  saw  a  gt)ocl 
chance. 

Charlie  and  Frank  encountered  Huckey  on  their  way 
to  the  river,  and  he  hailed  them  in  his  rough  fashion. 
"  Hullo,  Westers  !     doing  to  have  a  game  to-night?" 

"(uiessnot,"  rei)lied  Charlie.  "We're  just  going 
to  have  a  little  skate." 

"You'd  better  put  in  all  the  practice  you  can,  my 
hunkers,  or  we'll  beat  you  clean  out  of  your  boots  next 
Saturday,"  shouted  Huckcy,  who  had  not  been  very 
successful  in  the  last  few  matches. 

"All  right,"  returned  Charlie  pleasantly.  "If  you 
can  do  it,  you're  welcome  to." 

"  Have  you  got  a  good  team  for  Saturday?  "  asked 
Frank,  after  Buckey  hail  passed  on. 

"Capital,"  answered  Charlie;  "  the  best  I  ever  had. 
I  am  not  afraid  of  the  result. ' ' 

As  the  end  of  the  week  drew  near  indications  of  a 
change  in  the  weather  appeared.  Each  day  proved 
milder  than  the  day  before,  and  Friday  was  one  of 
those  rare  and  lovely  days  in  winter  which  are  called 
"weather-breeders,"  because  they  are  so  often  the 
precursors  of  a  storm.  The  boys  were  very  anxious 
about  Saturday,  and  felt  sure  it  would  be  their  last 
chance  for  a  match  for  the  rest  of  the  winter.  Charlie 
Wilkie  could  hardly  contain  himself,  so  troubled  was  he 
about  the  weather.      Buckey  Billings  had  been  boasting 


..uv*  .1  "-wm.-  l:i-  'fef.vj.,1.!.  'i-^^i- .'  >  Ti » 


{LEY 

han  with  his 
est,  llio  other 
wii  chap  who 
,'  saw  a  good 

on  tlicir  way 
jiigli  fashion, 
u  lo-niglit?" 
re  just  going 

you  can,  my 
ur  boots  next 
Dt  been  very 

ly.      "If  you 

day?"  asked 

it  I  ever  had. 

lirations  of  a 
1  day  proved 
,'  was  one  of 
ch  are  called 
so  often  the 
very  anxious 
be  their  last 
ter.  Charlie 
•ubled  was  he 
jeen  boasting 


A    PAIR    OF   SKATES    AND    A    HURI.KV 


'83 


of  the  splendid  team  he  was  going  to  bring  out,  in 
which  it  was  wiiisi-cred  tliere  would  lie  some  i  ra(  k  play- 
ers from  tlie  city  wlio  ]iai)pened  to  be  visiting  in  tiie 
neighborhood.  So  Ciiarlie  determined  to  be  in  the 
best  possil)ie  condition  and  play  as  he  had  never  playeu 
before.  One  can  imagine  then  what  liis  "  .ere 
wiien,  on  coming  home  early  Friday  a  ^rnoor,  his 
mother  greeted  him  with  : 

"Oil.  Cliarlio,  I'm  so  glad  you're  here,  (let  your 
dinner  as  cpiickly  as  you  (an,  for  I  want  you  o  go  down 
to  Uncle  Hugh's  at  the  Cape." 

"  Uncle  Hugh's!  "  exclaimed  Ciiarlie  in  amazement. 
"  Why,  mother,  how  on  earth  am  I  to  get  there?  The 
marc  is  lame,  and  I  certainly  can't  walk  'bat  distance 
this  time  of  year." 

"No,  Charlie,  but  father  thinks  you  could  skate 
there  easy  enough.  You  know  it's  only  a  little  distance 
from  the  shore,  and  they  say  the  ice  is  good  tlie  whole 
way. ' ' 

"But,  moth'-r,  I've  got  to  play  the  biggest  match  of 
the  season  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  I'  11  be  tlead  tired. 

"Well,  I'm  sorry,  Charlie;  but  I  have  to  send  an 
important  message  to  Uncle  Hugh  to-day,  and  if  you 
don't  go,  father  will  nave  to,  and  you  know  he's  not 
feeling  over  strong  just  now." 

Poor  Charlie  !  He  was  altogether  too  affectionate  a 
son  to  think  for  one  moment  of  allowing  his  father  to 
go;  but  then,  ten  miles  to  the  Cape  and  ten  miles  back 
again  meant  tired  legs  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours 
at  least,  and  tired  legs  were  not  exactly  the  best  thing 


klilli 


\m 


j!|j||M.! 


184 


A    TAIR    OF   SKATI'S    AND    A    HURLEY 


for  a  hockey  match.  Seeing  liis  concern,  liis  mother 
said  : 

"You  can  stay  all  night  at  Unde  Hugh's  and  come 
back  in  the  morning." 

"Oh,  that  won't  do,  mother.  I'll  be  busy  in  the 
morning.      1  nnist  get  back  again  to-night," 

"Just  as  yon  like,  ClKuiic  ;  but  1  tiiink  it  \vt)uld  be 
better  for  you  to  slu)  all  iiigiil,  for  it  uill  be  iiuile  late 
when  you  are  coming  back.  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  tiiat,  mother.  I'he  moon  is 
nearly  full,  a  d  it  will  be  bright  enough.  So  get  your 
note  written;  tlie  sooner  I'm  off  the  better."  And 
while  Charlie  bolted  his  dinner,  his  mother  scribblcil 
down  what  she  had  to  tell  Uncle  Hugh. 

It  was  about  four  o'dot  k  when  t!harlie  started  ofl", 
and  having  given  his  mother  a  hearty  good-bye  kiss,  he 
was  soon  speeding  down  the  river  at  a  lively  rate, 
swinging  to  and  fro  the  hurley  which  was  his  constant 
companion  during  the  skating  season.  He  took  a  good 
deal  of  pride  in  this  hurley,  and  with  reason,  for  no 
boy  in  the  neighborhood  had  a  better  one.  His  father 
had  had  it  specially  made  for  him  as  a  Christmas  present 
the  winter  before,  and  many  a  winning  stroke  did  it 
score  in  Ch.irlie's  skillful  hands.  It  was  a  beautiful 
piece  of  tough  maple,  varnished  all  over  ami  decorated 
with  red  and  blue  lines  in  the  most  artistic  fashion, 
while  the  handle  was  lashed  with  fine  twine  so  as  to 
give  the  firmest  possible  grip. 

The  air  was  so  pleasant  and  the  ice  so  perfect  that 
Charlie's  ill-humor  did  not  stay  with  him  long,  and  by 


URLKV 

Til,  Ilis  lUDllicr 

gh's  and  ronu' 

be  busy  in  the 

il." 

nk  it  would  be 

ill  be  (luite  late 

The   inoun   is 

So  K«-"t  yoi'f 

better."      And 

other  scribbled 

rile  started  off, 
od-bye  kiss,  ho 
a  lively  rate, 
as  his  constant 
He  took  a  good 
reason,  for  no 
le.  His  father 
iristmas  present 
5  stroke  did  it 
ivas  a  beautiful 
•  and  decorated 
artistic  fashion, 
twine  so  as  to 

so  perfect  that 
a  long,  and  by 


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A    PAIR    OV    SKATES    AMI    A    HURLKV 


l8: 


the  time  he  had  j^^one  a  mile  he  was  whisllini,'  as  merrily 
as  a  iiird.  A  light  liearl  witli  a  sturdy  pair  of  legs  to 
carry  it  can  make  short  work  of  e\en  ten  long  miles, 
and  Charlie  was  utiite  surprised  himself  when  Uncle 
Hugh's  home  (  ame  into  sight  as  he  dashed  out  on  the 
broad  surface  of  the  harlior.  Sm  h  good  time  had  he 
made  that  the  family  were  only  sitting  ilown  to  supper 
when  he  arrived,  and  they  welcomed  him  warmly  to  a 
seat  at  the  tahle.  His  ten-mile  skate  had  given  him  a 
famous  appetite  and  tired  him  not  a  little,  and  his 
cousins  weri.'  so  glad  to  see  him  that  he  lingered  with 
them  somewhat  longer  than  he  IkuI  intended.  When 
he  annoimced  his  intention  of  returning  home  that 
night  the  whole  family  rose  up  in  opposition 

"  \'ou  really  must  not  leave  us,  Charlie.  I  couldn't 
think  of  allowing  you  to  go  home  to-night,"  said  Aunt 
Kllen. 

••  Oh,  Cliarlie.  do  stay,"  put  in  Omsin  Alec,  "and 
we'll  have  a  first-class  pillow  light  before  we  go  to 
bed." 

"  i'leasestay,  Charlie,"  pleaded  pretty  Cousin  Mary. 
"  I  want  to  show  you  the  lovely  album  Cnde  I'rank 
sent  me  from  ISoston." 

'•  I  really  tliink  it's  not  wise  for  you  to  go  back  to- 
night," said  grave  rn(le  Hugh. 

But  Charlie  wj'.s  proof  against  all  ])ersiinsion.  advice, 
and  entreaty,  and  even  when  .\lec  as  a  final  argument 
said,  ''Colin  (Miisholm  says  that  wolves  have  been 
prowling  around  the  T.end  lately,"  Charlie  only 
laughed  and  persisted  in  going,  so  his  relatives  had  to 


I  86 


A     I'AIK    (II-    SKATES    ANIi     A     lUKI.KV 


give  way  and  allow  him  to  start  off  aliom  liaH-  past  sc\cn. 
feeling  tlioroiighl)  rested  and  ready  lor  ]ii>  journey. 

The  night  was  not  very  promising.  The  sun  had  set 
among  a  he.ivy  mass  of  elouds  wliii  li  now  eovereil 
the  whole  heavens,  permitting  very  little  of  the  light 
from  the  rising  moon  to  struggle  through.  .\  dreary, 
ciiiUing  wind  had  begun  to  Mow  from  the  east,  and  al- 
together the  prospect  looked  very  different  from  what 
it  !iad  been  in  the  afternoon.  IV-fore  he  had  gone  half 
a  mile  Charlie  felt  strongl\-  temjited  to  turn  had;,  espe- 
cially as  .Mec's  remarks  about  the  wolves  seemed  some- 
how or  other  to  take  hold  upon  his  mind,  but  his  pride 
rebelled  against  this  and  he  pushed  steadily  on,  gripping 
his  hurley  tight  and  comforting  himself  with  the  thought 
that  it  would  make  a  very  good  weapon  if  properly 
handled. 

One  mile,  two  miles,  tliree  miles,  four  miles — and 
the  sheet  of  ice  that  was  so  broad  in  Iront  of  Unde 
Hugh's  narroweel  down  to  n(jt  much  more  than  a 
hundred  yards.  l''rom  its  edge  on  either  side  for  about 
two  hundred  yards  more,  stretched  the  level  fields  called 
intervale,  from  whi(  h  great  crops  of  hay  were  gathered 
every  summer.  They  were  now  -Ijrown  and  sere,  and 
overrun  with  dense  withered  aftermath.  ISeyond  them 
rose  the  old  river  banks  sloping  ujiward  to  the  hills,  and 
covered  thick  witii  a  heavy  growth  of  tree  and  under- 
brush which  extended  as  far  .is  eye  could  see  on  the 
clearest  day  :  for  the  country  was  but  little  settled  about 
"  The  P.end,"  as  this  jiart  of  the  river  was  called,  and 
the  forest  still  affonled  protection  to  many  kinds  of  game. 


inKi.iiy 

It  lialt'i>ast  scNcn. 
i-  liis  journey. 

The  sun  IkuI  set 
j(  li  now  covered 
iitle  of  the  light 
3iigh.      A  dreary. 

the  east,  and  al- 
ilTerent  from  what 

he  had  gone  half 
I  turn  lia(  k,  espe- 
se'S  seemed  sonie- 
ind.  hnt  his  priile 
:adily  on,  grii)i)ing 
f  with  the  thought 


ea 


pon  if  jiroperly 


lour  miles — and 
in  front  of  l_  n(  le 
ich  more  than  a 
her  side  for  about 
•  level  lields  called 
ia\'  were  gathered 
iwn  and  sere,  and 
li.  iSeyond  them 
(1  to  the  hills,  and 
if  tree  and  tindcr- 
could  see  on  the 
little  settled  about 
er  was  called,  and 
any  kinds  of  game. 


A    P.\IR    UK    SKATRS    WO    A     IIIKI.P.Y 


187 


As  he  reached  the  halt-way  jioint  in  his  homeward 
journey  Charlie  began  to  feel  his  exertions  telling  upon 
him,  and  thought  he  would  rest  a  moment.  So  he  sat 
down  upon  a  stranded  log  and  looked  about  him. 
Never  in  his  lite  before  had  he  felt  so  utterly  alone. 
Not  a  sound  broke  the  still  solitude  save  the  dreary 
sighing  of  the  wind  in  the  distant  trees.  To  the  very 
bottom  of  his  heart  he  wished  he  had  stayed  at  Incle 
Hugh's.  But  it  was  too  late  now.  He  had  no  other 
choice  than  to  go  forward. 

Suddenly,  as  he  sat  there,  a  strange  wild  howl  pien  ed 
the  air,  and,  falling  \ipon  his  ears,  sent  an  icy  chill  of 
terror  .through  every  limb.  It  ( ame  from  the  eastern 
forest  and  was  followed  fast  by  another  and  then 
another.  Charlie  had  never  heard  the  howl  of  a  wolt', 
but  instinct  told  him  that  the  dreadftd  sound  whi(  h 
clearly  was  coming  nearer  couUl  be  nothing  else. 

"Gracious  goodness!"  he  exclaimed  to  himself. 
"  There  are  the  wolves  as  sure  as  I'm  here  !  I've  got 
to  skate  for  my  life,"  and  springing  to  his  feet  he 
dashed  off  at  his  toiimost  speed.  All  his  weariness 
had  left  him  now,  and  the  river  banks  fairly  Hew  past 
him  as,  with  head  bent  low  and  hurley  swinging,  he 
sped  over  the  glistening  ice.  There  was  not  a  boy  in 
all  the  valley  that  could  otitstrip  him.  and  at  first  he 
rather  exulted  in  the  idea  of  a  race  with  the  wolves. 

But  presently  the  howls  drew  nearer  and  nearer, 
though  he  was  skating  ••  for  all  he  was  worth,"  as  he 
would  say  himself,  and  the  feeling  of  exultation  gave 
place  to  one  of  growing  alarm.      He  had  three  miles  to 


ISS 


A    I'AIK    OF    SKATF.S    AND    A    IIURI.F.V 


go  licforc  leai  liiii;^  the  luaiol  house  and  oi  a  '~ntj  mile 
ol  tliis  liad  liec'ii  (ovcreil  \\h(.n,  glaiK  i)ig  tVatriilly  o\cr 
his  slioulder,  he  caii^iil  sight  of  three  dark  forms  gallop- 
ing along  the  iiank  not  a  hmulred  \artls  behind  him. 
do  faster  he  coidl  not,  altiiongh  the  sight  almost 
tVen/ied  him,  and  he  knew  the  woKes  were  gaining 
upf)n  him  with  fiightful  rapiilit).  A  (piarter  of  a  mile 
more,  and  the  leader  and  largest  of  the  three  was  even 
with  him,  loping  easily  along  the  edge  of  the  bank, 
but  evidentl)'  loth  to  wiitiire  out  upon  the  slipfiery 
ice. 

Noticing  this  Charlie  breathed  a  little  more  freely;  but 
his  relief  soon  vanished  when  he  saw  the  brute  dash  on 
ahead  to  a  bend  in  the  river  and  then  stop.  'I'here 
was  no  mistaking  the  piupose  of  this  movement.  He 
meant  to  await  Charlie's  approach  and  then  spring  at 
him  as  he  went  ]>ast.  The  boy  saw  it  all  in  a  iiioment 
and  the  same  moment  there  flashed  into  his  mind  an 
idea  that  made  him  tighten  his  grasp  ujion  his  hurley 
and  sumn\on  all  his  slrength  as  he  said  between  firm, 
set  teeth  : 

"Ah,  you  brute  !  vou  haven't  got  me  yet." 
.As  he  drew  near  the  ]ioint  he  slackened  speed 
slightly  and  veered  out  of  his  course  toward  the  oppo- 
site bank.  With  a  fierce,  deej)  snarl  the  wolf  sprang 
out  upon  the  ice  and  shot  toward  him.  .\t  the  same 
instant  Charlie  wheeled  to  the  right  so  as  almost  to  face 
his  foe,  who  of  course  <'ould  oiilv  go  straight  ahead, 
and  then  just  as  those  <  rucl  jaws  si'emed  readv  to 
fasten   upon   hiin    he   stopped  suddenlv,  turned  asitle, 


,    HURI.F.V 

and  (II  c\  '~nc  mile 
K  iiii,'  fearfully  o\er 

(lark  forms  gallop- 
anls   i)fliiii(l   him. 

the  sight  almost 
lives  were   gaining 

([uarter  of  a  mile 

he  three  was  even 
dge  of  the  bank, 
ipon    the    slippery 

le  mure  freely;  but 
tlte  brute  dash  on 
then  stop.  'I'here 
i  mo\ement.  He 
and  then  spring  at 
it  all  in  a  iiunnent 
I  into  his  mind  an 
sp  u]ion  his  hurley 
said  between  firm, 

me  yet." 
slackened    sjieed 

toward  the  ojipo- 
irl  the  wolf  sprang 
lim.  .\t  the  same 
o  as  almost  to  face 
;o   straight  ahead. 

seemed  rea(l\  to 
nl\',  turned  aside, 


A    I'AIK    ol"    >KATES    AND    A    IIUKI.I.Y 


189 


swung  his  heavy  hurley  in  both  hands  high  over  his 
head  and  bnitighl  it  down  wilii  tremeiulnu.-^  lore c  lull 
upon  the  brute's  head  just  behind  the  ears.  It  was  a 
terrible  blow,  and  without  a  sound  the  monster  rolled 
over  on  the  ice  dead. 

With  a  cry  of  mingled  joy  and  relief  Charlie  sprang 
away  ju^t  in  time  to  escajie  tlu'  onset  of  the  other  two 
woKes  that  had  followed  tlieir  leader's  example  and 
bounded  across  at  su(  h  a  rale  that  when  the  boy  dodged 
them  they  went  sliding  i)a>l  him.  sn;iilii\u  and  >napiiing 
their  jaws,  but  powevk>.^  to  do  him  any  liann.  \\  hen 
they  did  regain  their  leet  they  jiaid  no  more  attention 
to  Charlie,  but  forthwith  >et  to  work  upon  the  body 
o\  their  late  (omiianion,  while  the  human  jirey  ihev 
had  sought  rajiidly  disappeared  in  the  distance. 

A  (piarter  of  an  hour  later  a  very  mm  h  exhausted 
boy  knocked  at  the  door  of  h'raser  the  b.lacksmith. 
Tired  as  he  was.  however,  a  triumiihant  look  .^hoiie  in 
his  face  that  re(|uired  exjilanation.  'I'he  i'rasers  soon 
heard  his  story,  and  no  sooner  was  it  t(ji(l  than  the  big 
blacksmith  and  one  of  his  almost  eepially  big  sons 
shouklered  their  rille-  and  went  off  down  the  river. 
A-hile  Charlie  feeling  himself  to  lie  somewliat  of  a  hero, 
even  if  a  very  tired  one,  gladly  ac(e|ited  Mrs.  I'laser's 
hearty  invitation  to  remain  there  for  the  night. 

It  was  late  when  he  awoke  next  morning  and  oh 
dear,  how  stiff  and  sore  he  felt  !  As  soon  as  he 
apjieared  Hen  l-'raser  shouted  to  him  from  the  forge  : 

"Come  here.  Charlie,  and  look  at  this."  and  there 
stretched  against  the  side  of  the  forge  were  three  great 


IQO 


A    I'AIK    Ol'    aKAlLb    AM)    A    IIURI.IA' 


wolfskins  ;  one,  tht"  largest,  ratluT  torn  liy  wnll'i^li  ti-eth, 
llic  otlicrs  showing;  luil  a  Imllct  liolc  apicic. 

'■  \'uii  lan  lia\o  all  tinvc,  t'harlic,"  said  tlio  black- 
sinitli.  •■  Wo  all'  (|iiili.'  lontcni  with  lia\ing  killed  two 
of  the  bniti's. " 

it  nc'fii  hardly  ho  saiti  tlial  when  thr  story  ciinc  out 
Charlie  was  tlu-  hero  of  the  South  River  valley,  and 
his  satisfai  tion  was  comiilete  when  that  Saturday  after- 
noon, the  had  weather  being  good  eiu)ngh  to  hold  off 
a  liule  longer,  stiff  and  sore  as  he  was.  he  led  his  team 
to  a  victory  over  the  llasters  al  the  hockey  match, 
although  the  latter  did  have  four  (rack  i)layers  from  the 
city  on  their  side. 


IIUKI.I.V 

11  li\  wnH'iNli  toeth, 
ijiici  f. 

:,"  said  the  l)la(k- 
luuiiig  killed  two 

he  story  caiiR'  out 
River  valley,  and 
at  Saturday  after- 
'lH)iit;h  to  hold  olT 
s.  he  led  his  team 
ie  hockey  match, 
k  players  from  tlic 


->e" 


IRl'.AT  was  the  di'li-hl  of 
•  Sandy  Wv^a,  John  "  -  for 
^,o  |]iM)]ik'  1  ailed  \  oMIlt,' 
Alexander  (  anuron  in 
order  lo  di.^lin,L,Miish  him 
lioni  (iiIkts  oI  the  same 
...-^  name,    just    as    his   father 

^h  a  (1  been  dubbed  "  l!ig 
lohn"  to  distinguish  him  from  other  John 
("amerons— great  was  the  delight  of  .Sandy  when 
the  railroad  tame  jiushing  its  way  through  his  la- 
ther's farm,  and  on  again  toward  its  distant  terminus. 
l''or  the  Cameron  farm  was  a  lonely  place,  being  situ- 
ated in  a  break  in  the  forest  known  as  '-Cameron's 
Clearing,"  where  the  trees  ( losed  in  all  around  it,  shut- 
ting it  out  so  completely  from  the  rest  of  the  world 
that   its  unexpected  a|)i)earanec  was  always  a  bit  of  a 

191 


rgt         s\M)Y  CAM.  ;;<  N  TO   nil.  rp>cue 
surprise  to  iia\i'rrs  gnint;  over  that  ruuti-  lor  the  first 


s 
tniu 


'Tis  tnif   lliat    ll.c  (naili.    «illi    its  (lonlilc  snan   of 
praiKiiig    liorscs  ami   load   of    iias>t.'iii;t  r>  aiul    trunks, 
went    l.y   every  tlay.  but    the  mail    Ikmiii;  very  strait;lil 
and  level  just  in  Ironl  of  Canurun's.  the  driver  always 
took  ad\anta,ue  of  it  to  dasli  pa^l  at   a    rattling  paie.  so 
that   the   big  swaying   \elii.le    had   s(  an  ely  <  onie   into 
sight  from  the   left  lietore   it  was  out  of  sight    again  at 
the   right,      .\nyway.  Sandy  M)on  grew  ii^ed    to   >eeing 
theioarli  pass  and  often  thought  it  hanlly  wortli  wliiie 
to  run  down  tt)  the  front  gale,  altlioiigh.  as  sure  a>  lie 
did.  the   driver   hailed  luni   <  heerfully  with  some  such 
ipiestion  as,  "  Ilullo,  Sandy,  how  many  freckles  have 
you  got  to-day?"  sometimes  tossing  down  a  letter  or 
paper  for  the  boy's  father. 

'I'he  railway,   however,  was  (piite   a  different   affair. 
First  eame  the  engineers,  two  uf  whom  stayed  at  his 
father's,  and  Sandy  followed   them  day  by  day,  as  with 
theodolite  and  nnl  and  rhain  they  went  carefully  over  the 
ground,  dri\  ing  in  stakes  to  mark  the  route  they  selected. 
'I'hen  a  little  later  came  the   contractors  with  their 
gangs  of  men,  some  of  whom  put   up  at   15ig  John's, 
and  Sandy  forgot  that  he  had  ever  been  lonely,  while 
with  unwearying  interest  he  watched  the  broad  swath 
being  cut  through  the  forest,  the  road-bed  being  laid 
true    and   str-igl'^,   the   sleepers   and   rails  fastened  in 
their  jjlaces. 

P>iit  all  this  was  as  nothing  to  the  wild   delight   that 
thrilled  him  when  the  first  train  went  thundering  d(  vn 


LESCUE 

uuti-  litr  the  fifhl 

(loll Ilk'  siian  of 
;i'i>  iiiul  trunks, 
•in^;  \cry  straiglil 
111'  (lii\tr  always 

ratlliiig  iiaci'.  so 
ancly  i  oim.-  into 
of  si};ht  again  at 
,v  iisi'd  ti)  sccinj; 
anllv  worth  while 
;h,  as  sure  as  lie 
■  with  sonic  such 
my   freckles  have 

down  a  letter  or 

a  (lifferent  affair, 
oni  stayed  at  his 
ly  by  day,  as  with 
t  carefully  over  the 
jute  they  selected, 
ractors  with  their 
ip  at  r>ig  John's, 
leen  lonely,  while 
1  the  broad  swath 
ad-bed  being  laid 
I   rails  fastened   in 

wild  delight  that 
I  thundering  d(  vn 


SANDY    CAMKKON    Ti  i    1111.    KI„S(  UK 


19.^ 


the  track,  its  huge  engine  and  long  line  of  <ars  all  gay 
with  bunting  and  (rowiled  with  peoiilc.  Sandy  fell 
perfectly  sure  he  (oiild  ueser  tire  of  such  a  sight  as 
that,  and  the  knowledge  that  henceforth  trains  would 
be  constantly  passing  to  and  fro  before  his  liouie  made 
him  feel  more  contented  with  it  than  he  had  been  for 
many  a  day. 

It  was  midsummer  when  the  I'-astern  Extension  Rail- 
way opened  for  Irattic,  and  by  autumn  Sandy  was  well 
known  to  every  engine  driver  and  conductor  on  the 
road,  for  he  seemed  to  be  always  on  the  lookout  to 
wave  his  hat  to  them  as  tlu  train  went  speeding  by. 
Now  and  then  he  got  a  ride  too.  thanks  to  the  kind- 
ness of  some  friendly  conductor  who  would  slow  up  his 
freight  train  until  the  boy  (oiild  jump  on,  and  then 
carry  him  off  to  the  nearest  station,  whence  he  would 
return  in  the  same  way. 

"  It's  not  a  farmer  but  an  engine  driver  that  Sandy' II 
be,"  said  Mrs.  Cameron  to  her  husbaiul.  " 'l"he 
lad's  clean  daft  about  the  train." 

"  Well,  1  don't  know  as  I  mind,"  replied  J5ig  John, 
who  was  very  fond  of  his  only  son.  "  I'll  a  deal  sight 
rather  see  him  a  good  driver  than  a  poor  farmer  any- 
way.     If  his  heart's  in  it  let  him  have  his  will." 

So  Sandy  was  allowed  to  enjoy  himself  iincnn;kcd. 

About  two  miles  west  of  the  Cameron  farm  the  rail- 
road ran  through  a  narrow  gorge  called  1  )eep  Valley, 
which  had  been  chosen  in  order  to  save  going  a  long 
way  around,  or  driving  a  costly  tunnel  through  the 
hills.     It  was  intended  to  build  snow  sheds  in  the  nar- 

N 


^.Ji'P 


194 


SANDY   CAMF.K-1N    TO    THE    RESCUE 


rowcst  ])art  of  the  gorge,  l)iit  this  liad  iu)t  Iicl-u  done 
wlioM  ll>c  winter  closed  in  and  then,  of  course,  it  was 
too  hue. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  winter  no  great  quan- 
tity of  snow  fell  and  the  tra<  k  <  ould  be  kept  clear  with- 
out much  difficulty.  Sandy  fairly  shouted  with  glee 
the  first  time  he  saw  the  great  snow-plow  tearing  grandly 
through  the  drifts  and  tossing  the  snow  from  off  the 
track  as  if  enrageil  at  its  impertinence  in  l)eing  there. 
lie  thought  to  himself  what  a  fine  thing  it  would  he  if 
his  father  only  IkuI  something  like  that  to  clear  the 
paths  to  the  ham  and  tlie  well,  for  oh,  how  his  back 
did  ache  sometimes  wiiile  he  was  doing  it  with  nothing 
belter  than  a  small  shovel  ! 

Just  before  Christmas  one  of  the  engineers  in  charge 
of  the  line  came  down  from  headipiarters  to  have  a 
look  at  Deep  X'allcy,  for  there  was  no  knowing  when 
the  snow  might  give  trouble  there.  He  brought  with 
him  two  odd-looking  things  such  as  Sandy  had  never 
seen  before.  He  called  them  snow-shoes  and  aston- 
ished the  boy  by  strajiping  them  to  his  feet  and  strid- 
ing gayl)'  over  the  deep  snow  where  without  them  he 
would  not  have  been  able  to  take  a  single  step. 

So  great  was  Sandy's  admiration  that  the  kind-hearted 
engineer  showed  him  how  to  use  them,  and  before  he 
went  away  promised  him  a  pair  for  a  Christmas  present. 
Sure  enough,  on  Christmas  eve  as  a  train  flashed  by,  a 
big  parcel  was  Hung  out  to  Sandy,  standing  expectantly 
at  the  pate,  and  in  that  parcel  he  found  a  pair  of  snow- 
shoes,  with  a  pair  of  moccasins  lashed  to  them. 


<RSCUE 

1   nut  l)CL'n  clone 
of  course,  it  was 

no  },'reiit  quan- 
L-  kept  clear  witli- 
loiited  with  t^lee 
)W  tearing  grandly 
low  from  off  the 
;  in  l)oing  there, 
ing  it  would  be  if 
that  to  clear  the 
oh,  how  his  back 
ig  it  with  nothing 

igineers  in  charge 
larters  to  have  a 
lo  knowing  when 
He  brought  with 
Sandy  had  never 
-slioes  and  aston- 
m's  feet  and  strid- 
without  them  he 
ngle  step, 
t  the  kind-hearted 
m.  and  before  he 
Christinas  present, 
train  flashed  by,  a 
inding  expectantly 
nd  a  pair  of  snow- 
d  to  them. 


SANDY    C.XMKRON    TO    llll.    KKSCUE 


'95 


"Oh,  mother,  just  look  here  !"  called  the  delighteil 
boy  as  lie  rushed  into  liie  lioiise.  "  Mr.  Abbott 
didn't  forget  nic.  Here  are  liie  snow-shoes  and  tiie 
things  for  my  feet  too." 

Siicii  a  h.ii)py  Ciiristmas  as  Saiuly  h.ul,  llianks  to  Mr. 
Abbott's  ihoughtfiilness  !  Nearly  the  wii(;le  day  he 
spent  tramping  about,  getting  many  a  tuniliie,  and 
often  being  half  burietl  in  a  big  snowdrilt,  but  persever- 
ing until  belbre  dark  lie  could  manage  to  walk  very  well 
indeed.  And  then  wasn't  he  a  proud  boy?  Welling- 
ton himself  was  not  more  elated  when  Waterloo  was  won. 

Little  did  Saiuly  or  Mr.  Abbott  imagine  what  a  for- 
tunate thing  that  gift  of  the  snow-shoes  was  to  prove  be- 
fore another  month  had  passed, 

By  New  Year's  Sandy  (ouKl  walk  on  his  shoes  as 
well  as  tiie  engineer  himself,  and  many  a  tramp  diil  he 
have  along  the  road  and  through  the  wootls,  until  his 
mother  began  to  comfort  herself  with  the  thought  that 
he  had  (luite  lost  the  idea  of  being  an  engine  ilriver, 
and  would  perliajis  keep  to  the  farm  after  all.  In  the 
last  week  of  January  Itig  John  Cameron  found  it  neces- 
sary to  be  absent  from  Cameron's  Clearing  for  about 
two  days,  as  he  had  some  important  matters  to  look 
after  in  the  village  of  .Anfigonish,  six  miles  away,  so  he 
went  off,  leaving  Sandy  in  sole  charge. 

"Take  good  care  of  mother  and  the  stock,  lad," 
was  Mr.  Cameron's  parting  injunction;  "and  mind, 
don't  you  go  gallivanting  off  into  the  woods  on  those 
Indian  concerns,  for  if  you  t  ."t  lost  there'll  be  nobody 
to  go  after  you. ' ' 


At 


t;'i: 


h 


■itn^ 


tQC) 


SANDY   CAMERON    TO    THE    RESCUl- 


"Never  you  fear,  father,"  replied  Sandy,  "Til  stay 
around  home  the  wl'.olc  time  yi.u're  away,"  and  feel-- 
iug  proud  of  his  rcsponsib!'.'  i>ositi..n,  for  he  was  only 
fifteen,  the  young  chap  went  wlusthng  up  tlvj  path  into 
the  house  as  his  father  disappeared  down  the  road,  and 
clasping  his  motluT  around  the  waist,  said  jokingly, 
"  Now  then,  mother,  you're  in  my  eare  for  two  whole 
days,  so  you  must  just  be  a  good  girl,  and  do  every- 
thing I  tell  you." 

'J-hat  was  on  Thursday,   and  the  day  went  by  un- 
eventfully, Sandy  faithfully  attending  to  his  duties  at 
the   barn  and   in  the   house.      But   on   Friday  came  a 
heavy  snowstorm,  which  made  poor  Sandy's  back  ache 
merely  to  look  at  it.      How  the  snow  did  come  down  ! 
just  as  if  it  ha  1  not  put  in  an  ap})earance    before  that 
winter  and  was  trying  to  make  up  for  lost  time.     With 
the  snow  was  a  roaring  wind   which    drove   it   madly 
hither  and  thither  and  piled  it  up  in   flmtastic  wreaths 
and  drifts,  burying  the  road,  the  teiices,  the  pump,  and 
threatening  to  bury  the  barn  into  the  bargain.      Ml  day 
long  the  snow  fell  and  the  wind  raged  and  all  night  too. 

Saturday  morning  dawned  and  the  storm  showed  no 

signs  of  abating. 

"I  hope  that  your  father  won't  try  to  come  home 

to-day,"  said  Mrs.  Cameron  anxiously,  peering  out  of 

the  win.low    that   looked    toward   the   road.      "They 

don't  CN    n  seem  to  think  of  trying  to  run  the  trains. 

There  hasn't  been  a   train  since  yesterday  afternoon, 

has  there,  Sandy?  " 

"No,  mother;  I  guess  there's  too  much  snow  on 


RESCUE 

Sandy,  "I'll  stay 
away,"  and  feel- 
I,  for  he  was  only 
^r  iiji  tlvj  i)ath  into 
Dwn  tlic  road,  and 
list,  said  jokingly, 
uire  for  two  whole 
irl,  and  do  every- 
day went  by  nn- 
g  to  his  duties  at 
on   r'riday  came  a 
Sandy's  back  ache 
V  did  come  down  ! 
irance    before  that 
;)r  lost  time.     With 
;h    dxove   it   madly 
n   fantastic  wreaths 
ces,  the  pump,  and 
e  bargain.      All  day 
d  and  all  night  too. 
;  storm  showed  no 

try  to  come  home 
isly,  peering  out  of 
the  road.  ' '  'i'hey 
;  to  run  the  trains, 
'esterday  afternoon, 

too  much  snow  on 


SANDY    C\MKK(JN    TO    THE    KI':SCUE 


197 


the   track   even   for  the  big  ))low.      No   fear  of  fatlier 
starting  till   the  storm's  all  over,"  he  added  (hcerlull). 

Late  that  afternoon  Sandy  was  standing  by  the  iVoiil 
window  tr\  ing  hard  to  des.  ry  t!ie  railroad  trac  k  through 
the  blinding  mist  of  snow,  when  he  joyfully  i'\(  lainied  : 

■•Uh,  mother,  here's  father  loming  up  the  path  now, 
and  he  can  hardly  get  along,  the  snow  is  so  deep  !" 

Whereupon  they  both  rushed  to  the  door  ami,  throw- 
ing it  open,  welcomed — not  Mr.  Cameron,  but  -Mr. 
Abbott,  who  lU)  sooner  got  inside  than  he  threw  him- 
self into  a  chair  utterly  exhausted. 

It  was  a  few  moments  before  he  was  able  to  sjjcak, 
and  when  he  did  speak,  this  was  what  he  had  to  say  : 
The  down  train,  witii  three  engines  and  a  snow-jtlow, 
was  buried  in  a  tremendous  drift  right  in  the  center  of 
Deep  Valley.  It  had  been  stuck  there  ever  since  Fri- 
day afternoon  and  the  passengers  were  in  a<;tual  i)eril 
from  both  hunger  and  cold.  Word  must  be  carried  to 
Antigonish  that  night  and  relief  obtained,  or  lives  would 
certainly  be  lost.  Two  hours  ]irevioiisly  he  had  set  out 
fr,im  the  train  intending  to  be  the  messenger  himself, 
but  in  struggling  through  the  deep  snow  had  strained 
himself  so  severely  that  he  c  juld  not  possibly  go  any 
farther.  He  seemed  very  much  com  crned  when  told 
of  Pag  John's  absence,  for  he  had  counted  ui)on  him 
to  wo  on  to  .Vntigonish  in  his  stead. 

For  a  minute  he  sat  silent,  as  if  revolving  something 
in  his  mind  ;  then  suddenly  his  face  lightened  and 
turning  to  the  boy  beside  hiu;  he  grasped  him  by  the 
arm,  saying  earnestly  : 


T 


198 


SANDY    CAMERON     Li)    THE    KESCUE 


"I  have  it  !  Put  on  your  snow-shoes,  Sandy,  and 
make  fur  the  village  as  fast  as  you  can  go.  It  will  be 
twenty-five  dollars  in  your  pocket  if  you  get  word  there 
to-night.    I'll  stay  with  your  mother  till  you  come  back.'' 

Now  Sandy  was  about  as  big  and  brave  a  boy  for  fif- 
teen as  coukl  be  found  in  the  whole  country,  but  the 
prospect  of  a  six-mile  tramp  through  the  snowstorm 
with  night  so  near  at  hand  was  enough  to  make  a  big- 
ger and  braver  fellow  than  Sandy  pause.  His  mother 
too  shrank  from  the  risk,  but  Mr.  Abbott  would  not  be 
put  off  This  seemed  his  only  chance  for  rescue,  and 
he  pleaded  with  Sandy  and  argued  with  his  mother 
until  at  last  he  wrung  a  relu'^^'^nt  consent  from  both. 
So.  after  fortifying  himself  with  a  hearty  supper.  Sandy 
strapi)ed  his  snow-shoes  to  his  feet  and  fared  sturdily 
forth  into  the  storm,  Mr.  Abbott's  hearty  "  C.ood  luck 
to  you  !"  and  his  mother's  anxious  "  Ciodkeep  you  !" 
following  him  as  Ik  ran  down  the  i)ath  to  the  gate. 

Now  just  what  had  Sandy  u:idertaken  ?  Six  miles  of 
deep,  drifted  snow  lay  betwee  i  him  and  his  destination. 
Although  the  storm  had  sonn:vhat  abated  as  the  after- 
noon waned,  the  snow  still  sifted  down  and  the  wind 
blew  shari)ly.  Hardly  an  i'.o-.ir  of  da>light  was  left, 
and  the  journey  woukl  take  him  two  hours  at  least. 
Moreover,  his  route  ran  through  dense  woods  nearly 
all  the  way.  and  if  anything  hajipened  to  him  there 
would  not  be  t'  ':  slightest  hope  of  assistance.  'There 
seemed  but  one  thing  in  his  favor,  namely,  tl  \t  by  fol- 
lowing the  railroad  he  could  hartlly  go  astray,  and  pos- 
sibly he  might  meet  a  relief  party  coming  up  the  line. 


KSCUK 

oes,  Sandy,  and 
go.  It  will  be 
1  get  word  there 
oil  come  back.'' 
ive  a  boy  for  fif- 
;onntry,  but  the 

the   snowstorm 

to  make  a  big- 
;e.  His  mother 
3tt  would  not  be 

for  rescue,  and 
vith  his  mother 
isent  from  both. 
ty  supper,  Sandy 
id  fared  sturdily 
rty  "  Ciood  luck 
lod.keep  you  I " 

to  the  gate, 
n  ?  Six  miles  of 
1  his  destination, 
ated  as  the  after- 
vn  and  the  wind 
laylight  was  left, 
D  hours  at  least. 
ise  woods  nearly 
ed  to  him  there 
distance.  'I'here 
nely,  tV at  by  fol- 
)  astray,  and  i)os- 
ling  up  the  line. 


SANDY    C.\MERON    TO    TIIK    KK.SCUE 


199 


All  these  things  were  present  in  Sandy's  mind  as, 
bending  his  head  lo.v  to  screen  his  face  from  the  wind, 
and  swinging  his  arms  to  and  fro  in  time  with  his  stride, 
he  cpiickly  disappeared  from  siglu,  while  his  mother  re- 
tired to  her  room  to  pray  that  no  harm  might  befall  her 
boy,  and  that  he  might  succeed  in  his  dangerous  under- 
taking. 

For  the  fust  mile  or  so  Sandy  could  think  of  nothing 
but  the  reward  Mr.  Abbott  had  offered,  which  seemed 
simply  magnificent  to  him,  \n!io  had  never  had  a  whole 
dollar  of  his  own  before.  What  a  lot  of  wonderful 
things  he  would  be  able  to  ilo  with  twenty-five  dollars  ! 
Such  presents  as  he  would  buy  for  father  and  mother  ! 
Such  a  gun  for  himself ! 

Presently,  however,  as  the  dusk  deepened  and  the  tall 
trees  cast  dark  shadows  upon  his  path  his  snirils  fell, 
and  he  began  to  wish  he  had  already  reached  his 
journey's  end.  He  was  not  naturally  timid,  but  what 
boy's  nerves  would  not  have  trembled  more  than  a 
little  if  he  were  in  Sandy's  plac^  ?  It  was  by  no  means 
easy  walking  either,  even  on  snow-shoes,  for,  tormented 
by  the  tireless  wind,  the  snow,  instead  of  lying  smooth 
and  level,  had  heaped  itself  up  in  billows  and  twisted 
into  curious  wreaths  which  often  broke  treacherously 
under  Sandy's  shoes  and  more  than  once  sent  him 
headlong.  Neither  bears  nor  wolves  were  known  to  be 
in  the  vicinity;  but  who  can  blame  the  lonely  boy  when 
night  fell  upon  him,  if  a  great  jagged  stump  left  by  the 
railroad  builders  seemed  so  hke  a  bear  croiuhing  to 
spring  upon  him  that  he  fairly  froze  with  fright  and 


200 


SANDY    CAMKKON    TO    TH|-.    RKSCUE 


darted  past  at  llic  Ui\>  of  liis  speed,  or  il"  the  soughing 
and  sighing  of  the  winii  through  the  pine  trees  startled 
liim  witii  tear,  bei  anse  it  sounded  so  like  the  horrid 
howl  of  distant  wolves? 

llelore  he  iiad  gone  half-way  the  real  diffinilties  and 
imagined  terrors  of  his  situation  so  possessed  hini  that 
he  a(tually  turned  to  retrace  his  steps,  feeling  as  though 
a  hundred  dollars  would  not  tempt  him  a  step  farther, 
when  suddenly  Mr.  Abbott's  words  flashed  across  his 
mind.  "  I'nless  helji  is  brought  to-night,  lives  will  cer- 
tainly be  lost,"  and  he  cheeked  himself  He  thought 
of  the  cars  filled  with  passengers,  men,  women,  and 
children,  enduring  cold  and  hunger,  and  his  brave 
young  heart  throbbed  with  sympathy  for  them. 

They  vvere  dei)ending  upon  him,  though  they  did 
not  know  it.  and  .Mr.  .Abbott  was  depending  upon  him 
too,  Mr.  Abbott,  wiio  had  been  so  kind  to  him,  who 
had  caused  him  so  many  hajipy  hours  by  giving  him 
the  snow-shoes,  the  very  shoes  he  now  had  upon  his 
feet.  How  could  he  go  bai'k  to  him  and  confess  he  had 
not  dared  to  carry  his  message  ?  For  quite  five  min- 
utes the  conflict  between  courage  and  cowardice,  dread 
and  duty,  waged  in  Sandy's  breast.  Now  he  would 
take  a  fe\,'  steps  homeward,  then  wheel  about  and  face 
the  other  way.  Never  will  he  forget  that  unseen 
struggle  through  whi(-h  he  jjassed  alone  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  ^\■est  Woods  on  that  wild  winter's  night. 
At  length  his  better  nature  cjn(]uered.  (lod  helping 
him.  he  would  carry  his  message,  and  with  renewed 
energy  he  set  his  face  fixedly  toward  Antigonish. 


'iiCUE 

it"  the  soughing 
le  trees  startled 
like  the  horrid 

diffirnlties  and 
iessed  liim  that 
'eliug  as  tliough 
1  a  step  farther, 
slied  across  his 
it.  lives  will  cer- 
f".  He  thought 
n.   women,  and 

and  his  brave 
r  them. 

nough  they  did 
nding  upon  him 
nd  to  him,  who 
i  by  giving  him 
V  had  upon  his 
1  confess  he  had 

quite  five  min- 
owardice,  dread 

Now  he  would 
I  about  and  face 
et  that  unseen 
)ne  in  the  very 
1  winter's  night. 
Cod  helping 
d  with  renewed 
ntigonish. 


SANDY    CAMKKON    TO    THE    RESCUE 


;oi 


Now  came  the  hardest  i)art  of  that  memorable  jour- 
ney. Already  feeling  the  effects  of  his  e.xctions,  and 
Iniding  it  very  difticult,  moreover,  to  keep  going  straight 
forward  amid  such  darkness,  he  nevertheless  plodded 
on  resolutely,  shutting  his  ears  against  the  howling  wind 
and  refusing  to  see  anything  but  common  stumps  in  the 
dark,  mysterious  objects  which  sprawled  ujion  the  snow 
to  right  and  left.  'I'ramp,  tramj),  tramp,  on  he  went, 
head  bent  low  and  hands  swinging.  .Another  mile  and 
yet  another  of  the  billowy  snow  slipped  behind  him 
until  there  was  but  one  mile  left,  and  soon  he  would 
be  clear  of  the  darksome  woods.  The  thought  of  this 
gave  strength  to  his  limbs  as  he  wearily  toiled  along. 

Jhit  what  was  the  matter  with  his  hands?  'I'hey  had 
been  feeling  cold  for  some  time  past,  for  the  snow  had 
gotten  into  his  mittens  every  time  he  fell,  but  now  they 
seemed  to  have  no  feeling  at  all.  Surely  they  were 
not  frozen  I  (lod  help  him  if  he  were  to  fall  now! 
He  could  never  get  on  his  feet  again.  How  careful 
must  he  be  then  !  Ihit  lieing  careful  meant  being  slow. 
Oh,  was  this  awful  tramp  never  going  to  end?  Step  by 
step,  cautiously  but  steadily  Sandy  pushed  ahead,  every 
nerve  and  muscle  at  their  highest  tension,  his  whole 
being  centered  in  the  one  supreme  thought,  not  to  fall 
until  .Kntigonish  was  reached.  He  felt  as  though  hours 
must  have  passed  since  he  started.  Once  and  again  the 
treacherous  snow  breaking  under  him  caused  him  to 
stumble  and  his  heart  stood  still  for  fear.  But  fortu- 
nately he  recovered  himself  in  time. 

At  length  a  turn  in  the  road  revealed  the  lights  ot 


■  if 


1' 


I 


n 


202  SANDY    CAMERON    TO     lUK    KK.SCl'K 

Antigonish  half  a  mile  away,  and  he  knew  that  those 
dreadful  woods  were  nearly  past.     Rea.  hing  tlie  clearing 
a  minute  later  he  gave  a  shout  of  joy  and  (luickened 
his  pace.     The  going  was  better  now,   for  the  wind, 
having  had   free  play  upon  the  track,  had  beaten  the 
snow  down  s;.ioothly.  and  Sandy  ran  no  risk  of  falling. 
'Ihe  lights  were  drawing  near,   only  a   ciuarter  of  a 
mile  remained.     Summoning  all  his  energies  for  one 
last  effort,  he  broke  into  a  run  and  never  slackened  his 
pace  until,  bursting  open  the  door  t.f  the  station  agent's 
office,  he  fell  fainting  on  the  floor,  frightening  the  agent 
l,y   his   sudden    and   startling  appearance.      His  faint 
,,uickly  passed  away,  however,  and  he  told  his  story. 
Without  a  moment's  delay  a  relief  party  was  organized. 
Toboggans  loaded  with  meat  and  bread  and  crackers 
and  cheese  and  coffee,  and  drawn  by  stalwart  men  on 
snow-shoes,  set  out  for  the  buried  train  with,  its  starving 
passengers,   and  seated  upon  the   foremost  toboggan, 
snugly  wrapped  in  a  big  biifllilo  robe,  Sandy  Cameron, 
the  hero  of  the  hour,  rode  triumphantly  homeward. 

When  Mr.  Abbott  told  the  passengers  how  much 
they  owed  to  a  boy's  bravery,  they  filled  his  hands 
with  money  to  show  Sandy  that  they  were  not  ungrate- 
ful The  railway  company  too  rewarded  him  substan- 
tially while  the  fame  of  1  is  exploit  filled  the  neighbor- 
hood' for  many  a  day  thert^  fter.  Also  his  hands  were 
not  really  frozen,  so  that  .le  was  not  only  none  the 
worse,  but  very  much  the  better  for  what  he  dared 
to  do  that  night  the  down  train  was  snowed  in  at  Deep 
Valley. 


CUE 

lew  that  those 
ig  the  clearing 
md  (}uickencd 
for  the  wind, 
lad  beaten  tlie 
risk  of  falling. 
I   (jiiarter  of  a 
ergies  for  one 
r  slackened  his 
station  agent's 
jning  the  agent 
ce.      His  faint 
told  his  story, 
was  organized, 
ul  and  crackers 
talwart  men  on 
vith  its  starving 
nost  toboggan, 
andy  Cameron, 
y  homeward. 
;ers  how  much 
illed   his   hands 
!re  not  iingrate- 
d   him  substan- 
d  the  neighbor- 
his  hands  were 
only  none   the 
what   he    dared 
)wed  in  at  Deep 


■P^ 


.VV,  Hal.  let's 
/        go    and    see 
'     them  dynamit- 
ing tlie  ice." 
"  W  h  e  r  e    is   it. 
and     what's     dyna- 
miting, anyway?  " 

■'  Wiiy,  over  there 

behind  the  rai  1  way 

biidge  they're  blowing  tip  the 

■'J'"^,''       ice    with    dynamite,    a    kind    of 

K>  _r  powtler.    you    know,  only  ten  times 

worse,  fath<.'r  sa\s.      Must  be  fun  to  see  it 
going  off.      Come   along  ;    a  1  t  of   the  fellows 
have  gone  over  already. " 

"All  right,  Ned.  Just  hold  on  until  T  put  my 
books  in  the  house,  and  then  I'm  with  you." 

The  schoolbooks  having  been  disposed  of.  the  two 
boys  hurried  away  to  the  railway  bridge. 

The  Rideau  River  had  risen,  overllowed  its  banks, 
and  invaded  the  village  of  New  Kdinburgh.  Running 
streams  too  deep  to  cross  e.xcept  in  boats  had  taken 

203 


y 


.MP"' 


204 


SAVED    ON    TUK    liKINK 


the  place  of  streets  ;  instead  of  yards  the  people  looked 
out  upon  muildy  ponds  in  wliose  swirling  waters  chips, 
logs,  boxes,  and  barrels  lloated  abont.  and  only  the  build 
ings' stood  al)ove  the  water;  all  else  in  that  neighbor- 
hood was  submerged.  Hal  Roberts  who.  in  comiiany 
with  the  •  lUulieys."  had  just  bei-n  playing  Venice, 
thought  that  all  New  I'ldinburgh  now  needed  was  a  half- 
dozen  gondolas  anil  a  Hoge's  pahu  e  to  be  a  little 
Veniec  on  her  own  account. 

To  Hal  and  Ned  the  Hood  seemed  fine  fun.  espe- 
cially as,  their  homes  being  on  the  high  ground,  they 
were  not  made  uncomfortable  by  it.  and  the)  watc;hed 
its  progress  with  great  interest.  I'or  a  whole  week  the 
water  had  been  steadily  rising,  as  the  hot  spring  sun- 
shine bla/.ed  away  at  the  immense  snowdrifts  which  lay 
along  the  river  banks.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  ice, 
the  water  would  have  run  off  all  right  and  gone  roar- 
ing and  splashing  over  the  Rideiu  Falls  into  the  broad 

Ottawa. 

P.ut  the  ice  was  so  thick  and  solid  that  it  melted 
slowly,  and  the  river  bed  being  full  of  it.  the  water  was 
(piite  dammed  up  and  could  not  get  away.  At  last 
some  bright  person  had  thought  of  blowing  up  this  ice 
barrier  with  dynamite,  and  the  jxjor  Hooded  folk,  eager 
to  try  anything,  had  jumped  at  the  idea  and  were  i-ut- 
ting  it  into  execution. 

\  number  of  men  were  at  work  when,  breathless 
with  running,  Hal  and  Ned  ai)peared  ui)on  the  scene. 
'I'his  was  the  way  they  went  about  it  :  With  long,  sharp 
crowbars  they  drilled  a  deep  hole  into  the  ice-floes  some 


:.i.\VKD    ON    TUK    liKINK 


J05 


people  looked 

r  waters  cliips, 
only  the  build 
liat  luiglihor- 
).  ill  ( ()mi>any 
layinj^  Neiiice, 
(led  was  a  liall- 
to  be    a   little 

Hie  I'un,  espe- 
1  grouiul.  tliey 
1   tliey  watclied 

liole  week  the 
lu)t  sprini^  sun- 
Irifts  wliich  lay 
:n  for  the  ice, 
:\nd  gone  roar- 

into  the  broad 

that  it  melted 
,  the  water  was 
away.  At  last 
king  up  this  ice 
)cle(!  folk,  eager 
1  and  were  i-ut- 

lien.  breathless 
ipon  the  scene. 
\'ith  long,  sharp 
ic  ice-floes  some 


distance  from  the  edge  ;  the  dynamite  ( artridge  was 
slippeil  cautiously  in  with  the  detonator  and  fuse  at- 
tached, and  then  eserybody  having  made  off  to  a  safe 
distance,  the  <  harge  was  exploded  ;  a  dull,  heavy  (on- 
cussion  fdled  the  r  ;  the  i(  e  sprang  high  out  of  the 
water  and  fell  ba(k  in  fragments,  and  great  cracks 
shuwetl  themselves  in  the  once  soliil  ice-field.  .Alter 
that  the  men  had  only  to  push  and  pry  a  little  in  order 
to  send  huge  i)ieres  off  into  the  current  that  was  rush- 
ing fiercely  down  its  confined  passage,  where  they  were 
borne  rapidly  along  until  they  leaped  over  the  falls  into 
the  Ottawa  below. 

Intent  and  excited  the  two  boys  watched  the  work 
for  some  time,  crcnvding  in  close  when  the  holes  were 
being  driven,  taking  a  last  ]ieep  at  the  cartridge  that 
looked  so  innocent  but  could  do  so  much  damage,  as 
the  man  slipped  it  carefully  into  place,  then  scampering 
off  to  a  safe  distance  on  the  warning  being  given,  and 
shouting  with  dehght  when  the  exjjlosion  took  place 
and  the  ice  splintered  up  into  fragments  with  a  rattling 
crash.  'J'hcn  as  the  great  jagged  calces  were  detac  hed 
from  the  main  body  and  sent  sailing  away,  the  boys 
would  follow  them  down  a  ways,  each  selecting  one  and 
playing  at  racing  with  it  until  it  was  time  to  get  back 
for  the  next  explosion. 

Hal  was  so  delighted  with  the  proceedings  that  he 
could  have  watched  them  the  whole  a''*t  ■  loon  ;  but  Ned 
soon  began  to  tire  and  to  cast  about  lor  some  variation 
in  their  amusement.  Now  there  was  not  a  more  rash, 
headstrong  boy  in  the  whole  village  than   Ned  Arm- 


i 


206 


SAVKt)   ON     THE    liRINK 


Strong;  no  other  ringleader  in  feats  of  daring  or  mis- 
chief was  needed  when  he  made  one  of  tiie  crowd, 
'i'his  afiernoon  as  he  walilied  the  big  i<  e  calies  lloating 
so  smoothly  and  switUy  down  the  c  urrent,  it  Hashed 
into  his  mind  how  jolly  it  would  be  to  hase  a  ride  on 
one  of  them  !  What  a  sjilendid  raft  it  would  make  ! 
In  view  of  the  danger,  any  ordinary  boy  would  not  have 
entertained  the  idea  for  a  moment.  It  was  nothing 
short  (jf  madness.  ]iut  Ned  was  not  an  ordinary  l)oy. 
You  could  harilly  have  offended  him  more  than  by 
hinting  that  he  was  ;  to  be  out  of  the  ordinary  was  his 
pride  and  delight. 

"  Say,  Hal,"  he  burst  out  suddenly,  "I've  got  it— 
the  best  fim  yon  ever  had  in  your  life." 

'What  is  it?"  asked  Hal  eagerly. 

"Why.  to  have  a  ride  on  one  of  tho.se  takes.  It'll 
be  a  first-class  circus." 

"Chnt!  Ned.      You  wouldn't  dare  try  that  !" 

"Just  wouldn't  I?  Come  along!  We'll  stand  on 
that  point  until  a  big  one  comes  by  and  then  jump  on. 
We  can  jump  off  again  when  we  like,  you  know." 

So  saying,  Ned  .\rmstrong  ran  out  to  a  point  where 
the  current  fumed  the  corner,  as  it  were,  and  the  cakes 
in  ])assing  rubbed  dose  against  it  so  that  there  was  no 
difficulty  in  getting  on  one.  Partly  carried  away  by  his 
comi)anion's  example  and  partly  in  hopes  of  dissuading 
him  from  his  foolhardy  project  Hal,  who  was  a  rather 
cautious,  prudent  lad,  followed  closely,  and  in  another 
moment  they  were  standing  together  on  the  point  with 
the  great  ice  cakes  whirling  past  at  their  very  feet 


daring  or  mis- 
o(  the  crowd. 
.■  cakes  ll outing 
■cnt,  it  (laslicd 
have  a  ride  on 
:  would  malcc  ! 
would  not  have 
ll  was  nothing 
1  ordinary  boy. 
more  than  by 
rdinary  was  his 

"I've  got  it— 


se  cakes.      It'll 

ry  that  !" 
We'll  stand  on 

then  jump  on. 
ou  know." 
3  a  jjoint  where 
e,  and  the  cakes 
at  there  was  no 
ried  away  by  his 
ics  of  dissuading 
ho  was  a  rather 

and  in  another 
11  the  point  with 
r  very  feet. 


SAVED    ON    TfJE    IIRINK 


207 


"  Now  then.  I  lal  !  "  ( ried  Ned.  "  We'll  ea(  h  jump 
on  one  anil  have  a  race  in  dead  earnest.  We  can  jump 
off,  you  know,  before  wo  come  to  the  road  bridge." 

"No,  no,  Ned  I  It's  too  dangerous,"  urgeil  Hal, 
now  realizing  the  folly  of  the  thing.      "  Let's  gi;  bac '    " 

"Tut,  man,  you're  afraid;  you've  got  no  pluck." 

"I've  plenty  of  pluck,  Ned;  you  needn't  say  that. 
Hut  I'ui  not  going  to  make  a  fool  of  myself,"  returned 
Hal  warmly. 

"  Who's  a  fool?  Come  along — if  you're  not  a 
coward,"  cried  Ned.  growing  angry  too. 

"I  won't,  Ned.  and  you  sha'n't  cither,  if  I  can  help 
it,"  and  suiting  his  action  t(j  his  word.  Hal  caught  hold 
of  Ned's  arm. 

"  Just  you  take  your  hands  off  me,  softy — I'm  off '. 
Vou  can  go  home  to  your  mother,"  sneered  Ned,  and 
breaking  away  from  his  companion,  he  sprang  out  uium 
a  huge  cake  which  just  then  rubbed  .against  the  point 
and  went  careening  down  the  current,  exclaiming  boast- 
fidly,  "  How  is  this  for  fun?" 

Completely  t.aken  aback  at  Ned's  sudden  action,  Hal 
stood  motionless  for  a  moment,  gazing  ui)on  his  jilay- 
mate  speeding  along  to  what  he  felt  sure  was  certain 
de.ath.  Then  full  of  fear,  he  ran  over  the  ice  after 
him,  calling  out : 

"  Ned,  Ned,  jump  off  !     You'll  go  over  the  falls  !  " 

But  Ned's  only  answer  was  to  take  off  his  hat  and 
swing  it  around  his  head  with  a  shout  : 

"Hurrah  for  the  ice-ship  1  What  a  time  we  arc 
having  1  " 


2o8 


SAVED   ON    rilK    riRINK 


mi 


Undor  tlu-  dark  ar.h  of  \hv  railway  liridnc  and  out 
ui).)n  tlio  olluT  hide,  tlu-  nv  <  aki'  wilii  it»  liu.li^li  fniglu 
nihlicd    rapidly,    its    »i>ccd    iiK n-asiLg    every   minute. 
Soon  it  reached  the  broad  exi>anse  between  the  railway 
and  the  ruad  hridges,  and   Hal.  who  was  doing  his  best 
to  keep   up.  noted  with  increasetl   alarm    thai   it   kept 
well  out  in  the  middle  of  the  (  urreiU,  so  that  it  was  im- 
possible  for  Ned  to  jump  off,  try  as  hard  as  he  might. 
All  at  once  Ned  aiijiarently  noticed  this  too,  and  began 
to  show  signs  of  alarm,  running  from  side  to  side  of  the 
swa)ing  ice  raft,  and  anxiousl;'  measuring  the  distance 
between  it  and  the   border-ice.      Just  beside   the  road 
bridge  there  was  an  eddy  «hero  tie  water  curleil  about 
the  shore  abutment.     If  the  ice  cake  only  got  into  that 
eddy  its  passenger  would  be  safe. 

Ned's  danger  had  now  become  known,  and  the  shore 
was  lined  with  people  watching  his  perilous  voyage  and 
shouting  to  him  all  sorts  of  ailvice.  One  man,  insleail 
of  wasting  time  in  giving  advice,  procured  a  long  rope 
and,  going  out  to  the  extreme  edge  of  the  stationary 
ice,  flung  it  toward  Ned,  who  grasped  frantically  at  it  ; 
but  it  fell  short,  and  the  cake  went  on  its  way  more 
rapidly  than  ever. 

The  road  bridge  drew  near,  but  the  ice  cake  still 
kept  well  out  in  the  center  of  the  current,  and  there 
seemed  small  chance  of  its  getting  into  the  eddy. 
I-'rantic  with  fear.  Ned  Armstrong  seized  his  hat  and 
using  it  as  a  paddle  made  desperate  efforts  to  guide  his 
clumsy  craft  toward  this  only  haven  of  safety.  I5ut  he 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  send  it  back  against  the  re- 


ill' 


.SAVKD   ON    Tlir;    IiKrNK 


;o9 


iridic  anil  out 
s  r<)ulij>li  fnij^hl 

every  mimitc. 
ccn  the  railway 
s  doing  his  best 
ni  llial  it  kept 
)  liiat  it  was  iin- 
J  as  he  might. 

too,  and  began 
ie  to  side  of  the 
ng  the  distance 
jeside  the  road 
ter  I  iirleil  about 
illy  got  into  that 

n.  and  the  shore 

ilotis  voyage  and 
ne  man,  instead 
red  a  long  rope 
if  the  stationary 
frantically  at  it  ; 
on  its  way  more 

he  ice  cake  still 
rrent,  and  there 

into  the  eddy, 
/ed  his  hat  and 
'orts  to  guide  his 

safety.  But  he 
k.  against  the  re- 


sistless (  urrent.  The  ponderous  ii  e  bint  k  utterly  re- 
fused to  be  guided,  it  went  steadfaMly  on  its  way. 
dipi)ing  and  rising  as  the  surface  of  the  water  bn.kc  up 
into  turbulent  whirls  with  the  ai>iir<iarh  to  the  falls, 
whose  sidicti  roar  began  to  make  itself  distindly  heard. 

In  aiiotlier  miiiuto  the  road  bridge  would  be  readied 
and  realizing  that  it  was  the  last  (  h. nice  tiie  in.m  ulin 
had  the  i\)\n-  ran  with  all  his  might  toward  the  span 
under  whii  li  the  <  ake  must  pass  in  order  to  try  another 
(ling.  Had  lie  been  oidy  a  few  seconds  sooner  he 
might  have  succeeded,  but  he  was  just  that  mm  h  too 
late  ;  and  again  the  rope  fell  short,  althougli  Ned 
nearly  finnliled  off  tiie  ice  in  liiseager  endeavor  l<  scdire 
it.  A  shout  of  horror  went  ii])  from  the  jieople  who 
lined  the  river  banks  and  i  rowded  the  bridge,  ga/ing 
heljilessly  at  the  iinhappv  lad  sweciiing  so  swiftly  on. 

Metween  the  bridge  and  the  falls  tiiere  now  remained 
only  an  ojien  space,  scarce  more  than  one  hundred  vards 
in  Ijngth,  in  whirli  tJie  waters,  as  if  rebelling  against 
the  leap  before  tiiem.  broke  forth  into  angry  foam- 
crested  waves  in  whose  midst  the  low-lying  ice  rait  was 
tossed  and  tumbled  about  so  that  the  boy  upon  it  had 
hard  work  to  keep  erect.  Half  paralyzed  with  tenor,  he 
stood  there  in  the  sight  of  hundreds  of  his  fellows  rea- 
tures,  not  one  of  whom  could  interpose  between  liim 
and  death — a  sight  to  wring  the  stoutest  heart.  ( )ne 
instant  more  and  he  would  take  the  awful  plunge  ! 

But  stay  !  A  shout  goes  up  from  the  agonizeil  spec- 
tators. Who  is  it  tliat  comes  springing  with  tremen- 
dous  strides   across   the   frail-looking   structure  vvhicii 

o 


A 


210  SAVED    ON    THE    BRINK 

spans  the  river  at  the  very  edge  of  the  falls?  The 
n.,.log  bridge-  they  call  it,  because  ,n  summer 
tilvhc^theLrisluw,anunderport,ondamsup 

he  water  so  that  the  n.ill  wheels  may  be  well  supph  • 
In  freshet  time  the  furious  swollen  streau.  r.ses  to  a  fc 
feet  from  the  top,  and  it  is  along  this  na-rowioou.) 

:hat  a  man.  who  is  at  once  recognized  as  •    b.g  Alec 
the  stalwart  foreman  of  the  mill,  is  now  seen  rushu  g    _ 
The  ice  caKe  dashes  swiftly  toward  the  "sto,.lg^ 

Snt  Big  Ale<-.  is  .pucker.      He  reaches  the  spot  nght 
:d^'thich  the  clue  must  pass  in  its  heacUong^^^^^^^ 

he  flings  hin^self  face  downward  on  the  beams  he 
"ns  far  over  the  edge,  his  long  sinewy  arms  stretched 
o  their  utmost  length.  Straight  toward  hnn  comes 
he  ice  cake.  He  shouts  fercely.  Ned.  looking  up, 
sees  him  and  understands.  He  turns  to  face  hnn,  and 
just  as  the  shadow  of  the  bridge  falls  upon  the  .ce,  he 
:.s  all  his  strength  into  one  wild  leap  toward    he.  ou^^^ 

tretched  arms.      He  does  not  m.ss  them-he   s  caught 
t  in  their  iron  grip-R.r  one  aw.a  moment  h^swa^ 

above  the  raging  torrent  and  the  spectators  hold  thur 

llth  in  sickening  apprehension  ;  then  w,th  a  g.gan Uc 

e  t  rt   l'.ig   Alec  swings  the    boy  clear   up    upon    the 

Ige  a,!d  stands  beside  him  treml^^ng  ur  every  i^rve 

and  muscle,  while  a  shout  that ..:..:..  ^:e  roar  of  the 

falls  uoes  up  from  the  overjoyed  on-lookers. 

one  of  the  flrst  to  be  at  Ned  Armstrong's  s.de  was 
Hal  Roberts,  the  tears  of  joy  streaming  down  h,s  c-^.eeks 
Z  he  threw  his  arms  around  his  playmate  who  had  thus 
been  saved  on  the  very  brink. 


iil 


the  falls?     The 
ausc   in    summer 
portion  dams  u\) 
be  well  supplied, 
.-aui  rises  to  a  few 
is  na-row  footway 
d  as  ••  r>ig  Alec," 
nv  seen  rushing. 
[  the  "stop-log," 
les  the  spot   right 
ts  headlong  rush  ; 
II    the    beams  ;  he 
;\vy  arms  stretched 
oward  him    comes 

Ned,  looking  up, 
s  to  face  him,  and, 
s  upon  the  ice,  he 
a\)  toward  the  out- 
them— he  is  caught 
il  moment  he  sways 
)ectators  hold  their 
then  with  a  gigantic 
;lear    up    upon    the 
.'inif  in  every  nerve 
uL   -  e  roar  of  the 
-lookers. 

Armstrong' s  side  was 
iiing  down  his  cheeks 
lymate  who  had  thus 


r^^^ 


h 


V' 


rROFKSSOR,  won't  yo- juin 
oursi<alin^  part)-  to-morrow? 
We  intend  lo  go  up  as  far  as 
i5anksi(le.     I'he  riser  is  a  per- 
fect sheet  of  giass,  they  sa\' 
Nearly  all  liie  (lass  are  gcjiui,' 
and  we  wduUI  like  so  mut;h 
to  have  you   take  us  in  charge  I" 
exclaimed  Charlie   Unrd.  all  in   one 
lueatli.  as  he  somewhat  iinccreuiori- 
ously  broke  in  upon  the  iiniet    of    Pro- 
fessor Owen's  study  one  Friday  evening  in  Decem- 
ber just  after  winter  had  settled  ujjon  the  land. 

Tile  boys  all  likjd  the  jjrofessor.  even  if  he  diii  in- 
sist witli  a  lirmness  that  knew  no  compromise  'jion 
their  mastering  the  exact  relations  between  '-a"  and 
" -x "  and  being  able  to  cross  the  "  .\sses'  liridge" 
without  falling  over.  As  the  new  professor  of  mathe- 
matics at  Elmwood  College  he  had  rapidly  won  the  af- 
fection not  less   than    the   respect  of  the  students   by 

211 


fi 


JI3  THE    PROFESSOk'S    l^Vsr    SKATK 

being  not  only  a  thorough  teacher,  but  also  a  leader  in 
,11  their  athletic   exercises,  taking  his  ,art   ,n   cncket 
'football,  rowing,  and  other  sports  with  a  boy.sh  v.m  and 
,,„,,,H,g  sum  tl.at  uKuie  hin.  quite  a  luro  an.ong  Im 

,,,,,i,s.      The  game  never  seemed  to  them  so  hvely  as 
llL  Sidney  Owen,  throwing  aside  his  im>^s.onalse 

verity  wUh  his  official  gown,  ranged  hnnself  on  the 
weakest  .ide  and  went  so  vigorously  to  work  as  to  be  a 
good  match  tor  any  two  of  the  other  players. 
'  When,  therefore.  Charlie  ll.ru.  with  a  precp-tat  on 
for  which  he  feU  bound  to  •.pck.gi/e,  mterrupted  the 
Xor'-eading  that  wintc:  evening  he  a..y  counted 

'on  a  favorable  reply    to  his  breathless  re.iuest.      A 
'   fessor  who  could  bat.  bowl,  kic.k.  dodge,  run,  and 
Lv  like  theirs  n.ust  certa.nly  be  able  to  skate  also,  and 
the  next  day  being  Saturday,  the  <lass  had  arranged  U, 
spend  their  half-holiday  in  skating  up  the  xiver  to  bank- 
's de-a  good  six  nnles  as  the  crow  tlies-com.ng  bac. 
i,  time  for  dinner  with  appetites  worthy  of  the  anc.cnt 
Norsen.en.     The  ice  was  reported  perfect,  the  weather 
seemed  propitu.us.  the  only  thing  lacking  to  make    he 
programnte  complete  was  that  the  professor  should  lead 
them  ,n  their  ringing  race  up  tlte   river,  now  g  eammg 
so  invitingly  between  its  tree-clad  banks,  and  the  boys 
felt  pretty  <-,onf!dent  of  securing  this. 

But  to  t:harlie's  great  disappointment  Professor  Owen 
shook  his  head  decidedly,  saying  that  he  never  skated 
now  The  recp.cst  also  seemed  to  awaken  some  pamful 
recollections,  lor  after  giving  his  answer  he  sat  for  some 
moments  looking  into  the  fire  in  silence.      Ihen  sud- 


iATK 

also  a  leader  in 

(lurt  in  cricket, 
a  boyish  vim  and 

Ikto  among  his 
licni  so  lively  as 
s  professional  se- 
1  himself  on  the 
I  work  as  to  be  a 
i)layers. 

th  a  precipitation 
.',  interrupted  the 
^.  he  fully  counted 
hless  retpiest.  A 
,  dodge,  run,  anil 

to  skate  also,  and 
,s  had  arranged  to 
the  xiver  to  liank- 
lits — coming  ba(  k 
•thy  of  the  ancient 
erfect,  the  weather 
eking  to  make  the 
Mfessor  should  lead 
■iver,  now  gleaming 
inks,  and  the  boys 

lent  Professor  Owen 
lat  he  never  skated 
L waken  some  painful 
uvcr  he  sat  for  some 
silence.     Then  sud- 


THR    professor's    LAST   SKATE 


213 


deiily  arousing  himself  tiie  professor  told  his  crestfallen 

visitor  tiiat  if  he  cared  to  listen  he  woiikl  explain  why 

although  he  had  been  passionately  fond  of  skating  oiu  e 
— he  had  not  put  on  skates  for  more  than  six  vears 
past.      'I'iiis  was  the  professor's  story  : 

•'  When  1  was  in  my  senior  year  at  Dalhousie  Uni- 
versity, which,  as  perhajjs  you  know.  Charlie,  is  not  far 
from  a  great  chain  of  lakes  stretdiing  one  beyond  the 
other  far  \i\)  into  the  country,  1  went  out  one  .Saturday 
afternoon  for  a  long  skate,  inteniling  to  go  as  far  as  the 
head  of  the  third  lake  at  all  events.  My  c  hum  had 
promised  to  come  with  me.  but  unfortunately  broke 
one  of  his  spring  skates  in  putting  them  on,  and  had  to 
turn  ba(k.  '1  he  afternoon  was  altogether  too  fine  to 
be  wasted,  so  I  set  off  alone,  hojjing  to  jiick  up  a  com- 
panion on  the  way.  A  better  day  for  a  gocxl  long  skate 
could  not  have  been  wished.  i'he  air  was  keen  and 
bracing;  the  sunlight  flashed  merrily  bad  from  the 
glittering  i)osom  of  the  lake  ;  and  as  I  laun(  hed  out  from 
the  shore  I  felt  as  though  my  muscles  were  made  of 
steel  and  my  bones  of  brass  and  thai  1  could  never  tire. 
"'I"he  first  lake  was  dotted  all  over  with  circling  .skat- 
ers in  groups  and  couples,  the  sharp  ring  of  the  steel 
and  the  joyous  voices  of  the  wearers  vibratuig  through 
the  air  all  annuul  me.  The  wind  blew  smartly  down 
the  lake,  but  I  did  not  mind  that  and,  being  fresh, 
made  good  tim.e  up  to  its  head  where  a  quid  dash  over 
the  thin  ice  in  the  run  between  the  lakes  took  me  out 
into  the  open  again.  Much  to  my  disappointment  I 
had  seen  no  one  whom  I  cared  to  ask  to  join  me. 


i 


214 


■rilK    I'KOFESSOR'S    I.AST    SKATE 


.^A   short  breathing  spcU  and  Uvas  off  agamwuh 
four  miles  of  superb  u:c  lying  b.^.rcn.e.  ana  a  uos^  a  I 

,,  „,seh:      Few  .Waters  had  ventured  be)oud  the  r    . 
1  Jing  low.  so  as  to  .resent  as  httle  n.uk  as  ,oss     c 

Un  the  wind,  which  had  Ireshened  — ^'^j'^'    J  ^ 
along  exulting   in    the  glorious  exer. nse   and  shout  ng 
llloud   a.r  ve;y   delight.      One  by   one   the   lo..  nu^s 
swiftly  slipped  behind  me.      Soon  the  upper  end  - H 
seco,^  lake   drew  near.      lU.   the  pa.  e  now  be^ 
tell  upon  me  a  little,  so  on  arrivmg  at  the  top   I   resud 

.while  in  a  sheltered  eove  before  assaihng  lake   nmube 
three,  whieh  was  reached  through  a  narrow  cut  where  a 

canal  had  been  once  upon  a  time 

Not  a  living  creature,  bird  or  beast,  broke  the  ma- 
jestic solitude  of  this  great  glassy  expanse  as  1  stoou 
upon  its  verge.  I'or  a  moment  1  felt  tenn.ted  to  leave 
^Led^yn^y  intrusive  skates.  Hut  I  h.ul  come  to 
con.iuer  it  and  there  n^.st  be  no  turning  back  now. 

>.  15y  the  time  these  last  three  lonely  m.les  were  cov- 
ered   my  muscles  clamored  unmistakably  for  rest,  so 
Le;m;se:^  down  on  a  bank  of  moss  where  the  .u..d 

could  not  .a.t  rt  .ne.  lit  my  pipe,  and  puffed  a«ay 
peacefully  until  the  setting  sun  plainly  hinted  that  ,t  was 
fjt  me  to  be  pushing  homeward  if  I  would  reach  the 
l:!tofthe.Jlakebef;.redark.  Witi^  t'--;^  'j^ 
,,,owinglv  strongly  at  my  ba.  k  I  sped  down  1  .ce 
reveling  in  what  seemed  the  very  luxury  <.f  motu.n  I 
had  scarcely  more  to  do  than  lift  and  gu.de  my  fl-e t 
The  wind  supplied  the  motive  power,  and  mile  alter 
mile  of  flawless  ice  flew  pas,   me  with  msp.r.ng  speed. 


CATE 

IS  off  again  with 
c,  ami  almost  all 
laxoiul  the  run. 
mark  as  i)OSsiblc 
onrcwhat,  1   sped 
isc   ami   shouting 
e   the   four  nnlcs 
ujiiicr  end  of  the 
(0  now  began  to 
Uk'   top    1    rested 
iling  lake   number 
arrow  cut  where  a 

ist.  broke  the  ma- 
spanse  as  I  stood 

tempted  to  leave 
P.ut  1  had  <ome  to 
ling  back  now. 
L'ly  miles  were  cov- 
kably  for  rest,  so  I 
)ss  where  the  wind 

and  puffed  away 
ly  hinted  that  it  was 
■  1  would  reach  the 
With  the  wind  now 
peel  down  thj  ice, 
xury  of  motion.  I 
and  guide  my  feet, 
wer,  ami  mile  after 
iih  inspiring  speed. 


THE    PROFESSOR'.S    LAST   SKATE 


215 


The  third  lake  was  soon  left  to  its  former  solitude. 
Dashing  through  the  canal  I  shot  out  on  the  sei  ond, 
determined  to  win  my  ra<:e  with  the  daylight. 

"  1  had  gone  about  half-way  down  the  lake  when  my 
evil  genius  suggested  skating  backward  a  little  while  for 
a  change,  and  still  further  \  rompted  me  to  try  the 
'locomotive.'  You  know,  1  supi)ose,  t'harlie,  what 
an  intricate  and  rapid  step  that  is.  Well.  I  had  just 
reached  full  speed  at  it,  and  my  skates  were  rattling 
over  the  hard  ice  like  a  pair  of  castanets,  w  hen  suddenly 
a  wicked  little  piece  of  wood  firndy  ind)edded  in  the 
ice,  caught  one  of  my  blades  ;  a  sickening  thrill  of  ap- 
prehension (juivered  through  me,  and  then  in  a  flash  1 
was  hurled  upon  my  back,  my  legs  tangled  uy  together, 
and  my  head  striking  the  ice  with  a  terrible  thud  that 
sent  me  into  unconsciousness. 

"  It  must  have  been  at  least  five  minutes  before  my 
senses  cai^e  back  to  me,  and  several  minutes  more 
before  I  could  think  dearly  enough  to  realize  what  had 
happened.  My  first  impulse  was  of  course  to  regain  my 
feet,  but  on  attempting  to  do  so  an  awful  pang  of 
agonizing  pain  shot  up  from  my  right  leg  just  above  the 
ankle  and  I  almost  became  un<:onscious  again.  '  Can 
it  be  possible,'  I  thought,  '  that  my  leg  is  broken  ?  ' 

"Just  picture  my  position  to  yourself,  Charlie.  Two 
miles  yet  to  the  foot  of  the  lake  ;  not  a  soul  within 
sight  or  hearing  ;  the  darkness  coming  on  rapidly  ;  the 
cold  steadily  increasing — what  else  could  a  broken  leg 
mean  than  a  dreadful  lingering  death?  And  my  leg 
was  broken  !     Clean  and  sharp  just  above  the  ankle, 


m6 


THE    professor's    LAST    SKATE 


,C    i 


tlic  bone  had  been  snapped  by  the  violence  of  my  fall. 
The  sliglUest  movement  gave  uie  exiiuciating  pain. 
Utterly  bewildered,  1  at  tirsl  shouted  madly  at  the  top 
of  my  voice  in  the  poor  hope  that  some  belated  skater 
might  possibly  be  witiiin  hearing  ;  but  no  answer  came 
back  to  me  save  the  mocking  e(  ho  of  my  own  cries. 
There  was  clearly  no  chance  of  human  aid. 

'•To  save  my  life  I  must  solve  the  tremendous  prob- 
lem of  getting  over  several  miles  of  ice  with  my  right 
let^  worse  than  useless.      As  a  fu'st  essay  at  the  solution 
of  tliis  problem  1  tried  rolling  over  and  over  toward  the 
kind.       The   agony   was   too   dreadful ;    the    progress 
accomplished  was  almost   imperceptible,     'i'hen   I  at- 
tempted to  wriggle  along  upon  my  stomach,  using  my 
arms  much  as  a  seal  would  its  flippers  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances.   lUit  I  gave  this  up  in  despair  after  making 
a  few  yards'  headway.      Only  one   e.\i)edivnt  now  re- 
mained  to   me.      That   fiiiling,    1    might   resign   myself 
hopelessly  to  the  death  which  hovered  so  near.      It  was 
to  get  upon    my  hands   and   knees,  and  disregarding 
the  fearful  suffering  involved,  crawl  along  in  that  way  as 
fast  as  i)ossiblc.      Adopting  this  plan    I   found  to  my 
great  delight,  that  my  progress  was  very  encouraging, 
while  the  torture,  intense  ;is  you  can  easily  understand 
it  was,  did  not  seem  much  worse  than  when  lying  still. 
"So  I  toiled  onward  through  the  deeiicning  dark- 
ness, pausing  often  for  a  rest,  growing  steadily  weaker, 
but  i)ersevering  with  the  grim  energy  of  one  who  fights 
for  his  life,  until  at  length  after  what  seemed  intermin- 
able hours,  hours  whose  supreme  suffering  can  never  be 


kk 


CATE 

lencc  of  my  full, 
iiuciating  pain, 
iiadly  al  the  tDp 
le  bclattd  skater 
no  answer  came 
if  my  own  cries. 

aid. 

•emendous  prob- 
ce  with  my  right 
Y  at  the  solution 
1  over  toward  the 
1  ;  the  progress 
•le.  'ihen  I  at- 
omach,  using  my 
under  similar  cir- 
pair  after  making 
peditnt  now  re- 
lit  resign  myself 

so  near.  It  was 
and  disregarding 
)ng  in  that  way  as 

I  found  to  my 
,ery  encouragiiig, 
easily  understand 

when  lying  still. 

deepening  dark- 
;  steadily  weaker, 
of  one  who  fights 
seemed  intermin- 
ring  can  never  be 


THE    PROKE.SSOR's    LAST   .SKATE 


21'^ 


forgotten,  I  reached  the  bottom  of  the  lake.  Dragging 
myself  up  on  the  shore  for  a  brief  halt,  I  thanked  (lod 
that  I  had  fouglit  off  death  tiius  far  at  all  events. 

"The  thought  gave  me  courage,  and  as  1  lay  prone 
enjoying  the  few  minutes'  resjjite,  the  dear  oitl  moon 
showed  iier  kindly  silver  face  above  the  crest  of  the  iiili 
before  me,  and  poured  a  Hood  of  welcome  iiglit  over 
the  distance  yet  to  be  traversed  iiefore  I  could  count 
upon  obtaining  human  aid.  Full  of  hope  1  slipjied 
down  to  the  ice  again,  and  resumed  my  pilgrimage. 
Ah  !  Charlie,  imagine  my  horror  when  I  found  myself 
so  chilled  and  exhausted  as  to  be  entirely  unable  to 
make  even  a  hundred  yards.  There  were  nearly  three 
miles  yet  ahead  of  me  !  After  having  fought  so  well  it 
seemed  too  cruel  altogether  that  1  should  fail  when 
aliTiost  within  sight  of  succor. 

"Lying  on  my  back,  with  my  face  upturned  to  the 
stars  (lashing  like  diamonds  through  the  pure  air,  I  be- 
sought the  (lod  who  set  them  there  not  to  abandon  me 
now.  My  limbs  had  long  been  chilled  to  the  bone, 
and  the  chill  now  began  to  creep  into  my  vitals ;  so 
cold  had  I  become  that  the  broken  leg  hardly  pained 
me  at  all.  The  languor  which  precedes  death  by  freez- 
ing, stole  sweetly  over  my  senses.  Once  I  lapsed  into 
unconsciousness,  but  revived,  and  was  again  drifting 
away,  when  a  familiar  whistle,  coming  from  the  shadows 
of  the  eastern  shore,  pierced  shrilly  through  the  air. 

"Rousing  myself  by  a  tremendous  effort  I  sat  up 
and  shouted  for  help  with  all  my  remaining  strength. 
To  my  indescribable  joy  I  caught  an  answering  call. 


2l8 


THE    professor's    LAST    SKATE 


and  then  a  stalwart  skater  dashed  out  of  tlie  dark  shad- 
ows of  the  liill  and  <  anie  toward  me  at  topmost  speed. 
In  another  moment  he  was  bending  over  me  with  a  fare 
as  full  of  joy  and  glad  relief  as  my  own  ;  for  who  was  it, 
Charhe.  but  my  faithfid  (hum  who.  missing  me  from 
the  dinner  table,  had  become  anxious,  and  borrowing 
a  pair  of  skates  set  off  in  sean  h  of  me  ?  i^'-xhausted  as 
I  was,  1  just  had  time  to  murmur,  '  My  '«-'«  '^  broken,' 
before  fainting  dead  away. 

"When  half  an  hour  later  I  eame  to  myself.  I  was 
lying  comfortably  on  a  mattress  in  the  bottom  of  an  ex- 
press wagon,  well  wrapped  up  in  warm  blankets,  and 
my  dear  old  chum  sitting  close  beside  me  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  first  sign  ol  returning  consciousness. 
As  1  looked  up  intpiiringly,  he  moli(jned  me  to  silence, 
the  tears  brimming  his  eyes  as  he  whispered  ;  '  It  was  a 
close  call,  dear  boy,  but  thank  (lod.  old  Charon  won't 
have  you  for  a  passenger  this  trip.' 

"  I  afterward  learned  that  in  order  to  get  me  to  land 
he  had  to  cut  down  a  small  spruce  tree  and  lash  me  to 
it  with  two  long  straps  he  fortunately  hai)i)ened  to  have 
at  hand,  on  which  rude  litter  he  drew  me  gently  to  the 
foot  of  the  lake.  There  a  wagon  was  easily  procured, 
and  the  rest  of  the  homeward  journey  soo  accom- 
plished. What  with  the  broken  leg.  the  long  exposure 
to  the  cold,  and  the  terrible  strain  to  which  both  nerves 
and  muscles  had  been  subjected,  cri(  ket  had  taken  the 
place  of  skating  before  I  was  myself  again. 

"  So,  Charlie,  if  1  do  disappoint  you  by  not  joining 
you  to-morrow,  you  will  admit  I  have  a  good  reason." 


Ui 


;ate 

r  tlio  dark  shad- 
topinost  Sliced. 
.T  nic  witli  a  fai  c 
;  tor  who  was  it, 
nissing  mc  from 
,  and  l)()rro\viiig 
?  l';xliaustcd  as 
y  leg  is  l)roken,' 

to  myself.  I  was 
bottom  of  an  ex- 
in  l)lankets,  and 
side  nie  waiting 
ig  consciousness, 
ed  me  to  silence, 
pered  ;  'It  was  a 
)ld  Charon  won't 

to  get  me  to  land 
c  and  lash  me  to 
happened  to  have 
me  gently  to  the 
s  easily  procured, 
ney  soo  accom- 
the  long  exposure 
which  both  nerves 
ket  had  taken  the 
igain. 

ou  by  not  joining 
e  a  good  reason." 


P  IJOVS    of    Massawijipi    looked 

^       ujion   the    big  mill    pond  as 

one  of  their  very  liest  friends. 

In    the    hot   da)s    of  summer  tiiey   dived 

into   its   (lark    depths   in   (|uest  of  ((uiiness 

or  voyaged  over  its  jiiac  id  siirfa<  e   on   board 

all  sorts  of  craft,  from  a  bundle  of  jilanks  to  the 

comfortable  boat  owned  by  the  miller's  son. 

In  winter  they  skated   u|)iiii  its  i(  e-dad  bosom,  and 

had  glorious  games  of  hockey  and  chase  up  and  down 

its  glassy  length. 

It  was  an  unusually  large  pond,  a  small  lake,  in  fact, 
which  had  been  created  by  building  a  large  dam  across 
the  foot  of  the  valley,  and  it  furnished  sufti(  icnt  water 
power  to  drive  half  a  do/en  nulls.  But  it  had  to  work 
for  only  one,  Mr.  Fairman's  carding  and  grist  mill, 
which  had  a  thriving  trade,  doing  all  of  the  business  for 
an  extensive  tract  of  prosperous  country. 

219 


I   ■ 


im 


ii^ 


OVER    THE    DAM 


,     \ 


None  of  the  boys  ajiprcc  iattd  the  i)ond  more  keenly 
than  Ned  l'>nrhank.  lie  was  expert  in  lu)th  swiinniing 
and  skating,  and  if  one  wanted  to  tinil  iiini  out  of 
sehool  ho.iis,  it  was  pretty  safe  to  look  for  him  at  Fair- 
man's  pond.  Always  the  last  to  give  up  bathing  in  it 
and  the  first  to  begin  skating  upon  it,  lie  came  in  ( oiirse 
of  time  to  feel  a  sort  of  projirietary  interest  in  the  pond 
and  to  regard  it  as  <niite  incredible  that  any  harm  could 
ever  happen  to  him  there. 

Vet  he  had  once  come  very  near  to  being  drowned 
there  before  he  had  learned  to  swim,  and  another  time 
broke  through  the  early  ice  at  imminent  risk  of  his  life. 
These  adventures,  however,  he  looked  ui)on  as  mere 
incidents  of  his  callow  youth,  not  likely  to  l)e  repeated. 

That  his  beloved  pond  should  treat  him  in  the  man- 
ner about  to  be  related,  gave  him  therefore  hardly  less 
pain  than  surprise.  It  seemed  like  a  betrayal  of  c(jn- 
fidence  which  somehow  refle<:ted  upon  himself  as  hav- 
ing been  too  trustful.      This  was  the  way  it  happened  : 

After  a  long,  cold  winter  which  had  afforded  more 
than  a  usual  amount  of  skating,  Mr.  ^airman's  men 
began  cutting  the  ice  to  store  it  away  for  summer  use. 

This  operation  ne  boys  watched  with  lively  interest. 
They  gave  the  benefit  of  their  services  too  when  the 
ice  cutters  were  willing  to  accept  of  them. 

Ned  Hurbank  was  in  his  element.  For  the  sake  of 
being  allowed  to  stay  about,  he  was  willing  to  take  a 
hand  at  anything.  Now  he  would  be  handling  a  saw 
and  again  poling  a  detached  block  cf  ice  to  the  place 
where  the  teams  awaited  it. 


md  more  Vt-enly 
l)otli  swiiiiniing 
'iiul  l)iiu  out  (if 
lor  l)iiit  at  I'air- 
iip  bathing  in  it 
c  laiiK'  ill  ( oiirsc 
■rest  ill  the  iioiid 
t  any  harm  could 

I  being  ilrowiiL'd 
ml  anotluT  time 
it  risk  of  his  life, 
i  uj)on  as  mere 
,'  to  be  repeated, 
iiiin  in  tlie  maii- 
refore  hardly  less 

betrayal  of  con- 
I  himself  as  hav- 
ay  it  happened  : 
d  afforded  more 

Fairman's  men 
or  summer  use. 
h  lively  interest. 
L's  too   when  tlie 
em. 

For  the  sake  of 
willing  to  take  a 
L'  handling  a  saw 

ice  to  the  place 


OVKR    TlIK    PAM  221 

"  Hi,  boys,  this  is  fun  for  me  !"  he  called  to  a  group 
of  his  playmates  who  were  looking  enviously  on  as  he 
piloted  a  liuge  bhx  k  with  a  pike-pole  along  the  (anal  to 
the  loading  ground. 

"\\ii\  don't  you  juini)  aiioard  ?  "  (ailed  out  Sam 
I'orter.      "It  would  be  easier  than  walking. 

Now  the  very  same  idea  had  before  this  ( onie  into 
Ned's  mind  but.  daring  as  his  spirit  was.  the  experi- 
nunt  seemed  loo  lia/ardoiis  to  attempt.  So,  in  reply 
to  Sam's  (iiKstion,  he  shook  his  head  and  went  on  as 
he  had  been  doing.  Had  Sam  said  nothing  more,  that 
would  have  been  the  end  of  the  matter,  but  as  it 
iiapiitned,  he  was  a  kind  of  rival  of  Ned's,  and  his  jeal- 
ous feelings  promjjted  him  to  shout  in  a  taunting  tone  : 

"  V'ou  won't  do  it  because  you  daren't,  .Ned  '.  \'ou're 
scared  ;  that's  about  the  si/e  of  it." 

It  is  always  irritating  to  be  challenged  in  this  way 
and  cooler  heads  than  Ned  po.ssessed  have  been  thus 
tempted  into  folly. 

Ned's  spirit  rose  at  once.  "I'm  not  a  bit  afraid," 
he  responded  hotly;    "and  I'll  soon  show  you." 

As  he  spoke  a  huge  cake  broke  off  from  the  outer 
edge  of  the  main  body  of  ice,  and  began  to  move 
slowly  downward  toward  the  dam. 

Finxl  with  the  notion  of  |)roving  his  pluck,  Ned 
lightly  vaulted  on  to  this  cake,  jiurposing  to  pole  it 
back  to  its  place  ;  but  as  ill-luck  would  have  it.  instead 
of  landing  s(iuarely  on  his  feet,  he  sli|)i)ed.  and  in  a 
violent  effort  to  recover  himself,  lost  hold  of  the  pole, 
which  fell  into  the  water  out  of  his  reach. 


f! " 


I 


OVKK    TIIK    HAM 


I. 
I'- 


On  Rccinn  this  the  Imys  set  mi  a  shout  of  alarm 
that  attraiitd  the  allciUiuii  of  llu'  id'  cutters,  wlio 
Itromptly  nislu-d  to  tlie  sjiot,  only  in  l'm<l  llial  llic  cake 
on  which  Ned  stontl  had  lucii  <  arricd  l>y  tiic  ( iirrcnt 
beyond  rea(  h  of  ihcir  imiIcs.  so  that  tiiey  (oiihl   render 

him  no  aiil. 

One  of  them  threw  his  pole  across  the  open  water, 
and  Ned  (ati  liin^  it  strove,  hy  using  it  as  a  paddle,  to 
check  the  downward  progress  of  his  dnmsy  raft,  but  liis 
frantic  efforts  were  in  sain. 

With  steadily  increasing  speed  the  ice  cake  moved 
toward  the  dam  amid  tiie  futile  cries  of  his  ccmipanions 
and  the  shouts  of  the  men,  wlio  now  fully  realized  tlie 
boy's  extreme  peril. 

"'i'ry  and  swim  ashore!"  called  out  somebody, 
and  for  a  moment  Ned  thought  of  making  the  at 
temj)t ;  but  the  dark  water  looked  so  men  ilessly  cold 
that  he  felt  sure  he  could  not  swim  a  stroke  in  it.  so  he 
shook  his  head  as  though  to  say,  "It's  no  use  ;  it  (an't 
be  done." 

Onward  moved  the  ice.  The  water  was  rushing  and 
roarii  .^  over  the  dam  in  full  flood,  so  that  the  top 
tind)e,  ,.ere  scarcely  visible  and.  as  Ned  neared  it,  he 
made  u])  his  mind  there  was  only  one  chance  for  life. 

At  intervals  along  the  top  of  the  dam  stout  posts 
stood  up  above  the  rest  of  the  structure.  As  the  ice 
cake  came  sweeping  on,  seeming  to  gather  impetus  for 
the  leap  over  the  dam,  Ned  stood  on  the  lower  edge,  and 
the  instant  before  it  topjiled  over  the  falls  he  summoned 
all  his  strength  for  a  spring  toward  one  of  the  posts. 


'">r 


1     'l' 

\4  V 


shout  of  alarm 
o  (•iiltc'r>>,  will) 
1(1  that  tl)c  cake 
I  l)\  ihf  (  iirrcnt 
jy  could   rciulcr 

iIk'  ojicn  water, 

as  a  paililk'.  to 

insy  raft,  but  his 

ice  cake  moved 

his  cumpauioDs 

Fully  realized  the 

out   somebody, 

making   the  at 

men  ilessly  cold 

troke  ill  it,  so  lie 

i  no  use  ;  it  can't 

■  was  rushing  and 
so  that  the  top 
Jed  neared  it,  he 
ihance  fur  life, 
dam  stout  posts 
lire.  As  the  ice 
athcr  impetus  for 
le  lower  edge,  and 
alls  he  summoned 
one  of  the  posts. 


OVF.R    THE    n\M 


22.3 


He  die'  not  (piite  reach  it,  and  for  a  harrowing  minute 
had  a  desperate  struggle  with  the  torrent  tiiat  soiiglil  to 
hurl  him  after  the  ice  cake. 

By  dint  of  a  tremendous  effort,  however,  he  gained 
his  poitit,  and  throwing  his  arm  around  the  post,  turned 
an  eager  appealing  fai  e   toward   the  group  of  men  and 
boys  who  were  watching  his  esery  mo\emeiit  witii    in 
tense  anxiety. 

"Can't  you  hel|i  me  some  way?  "  he  cried  to  them 
across  tiie  surging  waters. 

Hitherto  they  had  done  nothing  but  ga/e  at  him 
with  staring  eyes  ;  now  they  woke  into  ac  tion  and  ran 
hither  and  thither  in  wild  haste  to  be  of  service. 

One  of  the  men  rushed  to  the  mill  and  procuring  a 
coil  of  rojjc  made  his  way  as  near  to  Xed  as  lu'  fouid 
and  tried  to  throw  the  end  out  to  him.  Ihit  he  (oidd 
not  fling  it  far  enough  ;  his  best  efforts  fell  some  yards 
short. 

'I'lieu  another  jilaii  suggested  itself,  to  go  back  to  the 
ice  and  lloat  the  rope  down.  The  end  was  accordingly 
tied  to  a  block  of  wood  and  committed  to  the  water. 

With  jirovoking  slowness  tlie  blo(  k  glided  down,  a 
man  guiding  its  course  as  best  he  could  in  Ned's  vliret  - 
tion.  Hobbing  merrily  up  and  down  as  though  no  life 
was  dependent  upon  its  making  the  right  course,  the 
block  floated  along,  while  the  exc  ited  crowd  of  .spec- 
tators joined  in  encouraging  shouts  of: 

"  Hold  on,  Ned  ;  the  rope  will  soon  lie  up  to  you  ! 
Keep  your  grip.     We'll  pidl  you  up  all  right." 

Poor  Ned's  face  lighted  up  with  hope  when  he  saw 


5^ 


r 

3F 


i,     l!, 


224 


OVER    THE    HAM 


tlie  scheme.      Ho  was  chilled  almost  to  the  -^leart,  but 
he  resiioiided  bravely  : 

'•All  right,  I'll  hold  on.      But  hurry  up." 
Unhappily  it  was  not  ijossible   to  hurry  up.     The 
block  of  wood  to  which  the  rope  was  attached  had  to 
he  carefully  yuided,  and  this  took  time.      In  breathless 
anxiety  the  spectators  watched  the  effort. 

"It's  going  straight  for  him!"  exclaimed  Frank 
Kairman,  the  miller's  eldest  son.  "He'll  get  it  all 
right." 

Then  raising  his  voice  he  shouted  : 
' '  Keep  your  hold,  NVd ;  the  rope  will  reach  you  in 
a  minute  !" 

After  careering  about  in  a  most  trying  fashion,  the 

block  at  last  seemed  to  make  uj)  its  mind  to  do  what 

was  required  of  it  and  made  directly  for  Ned,  whose 

strength  was  fast  failing  him. 

Presently  a  glad  shout  arose  : 

"Hurrah  !     It's  reached   him— he's  got  it  !     Now 

pull  him  ui> !  " 

Ned  had  gotten  his  hand  on  the  block,  but  in  their 
eagerness  to  rescue  him  half  a  dozen  laid  hold  of  the 
rope,  with  the  result  thit  they  gave  it  such  a  tug  as  to 
pull  it  ipiite  out  of  his  grasj),  causing  them  to  go  sprawl- 
ing on  the  ice  in  a  manner  that  at  any  other  time  would 
have  been  supremely  ludicrous. 

But  no  one  thought  of  laughing  for,  once  more  at 
the  mercy  of  the  powerful  current,  Ned  shot  swiftly 
backward,  and  this  time  struck  the  dam  in  the  interval 
between  two  of  the  posts,  so  that  there  was  nothing  for 


'*8ii4i 


the  ^leart,  but 

np." 

urry  up.     The 
ittachcd  bad  to 
In  breathless 
t. 

idaimed    Frank 
He'll  get   it  all 


ill  reach  you  in 

ing  fashion,  the 
lind  to  do  what 
for  Ned,  whose 


s  got  it  !     Now 

K-k,  but  in  their 
laid  hold  of  the 
such  a  tug  as  to 
lem  to  go  sprawl- 
other  time  would 

»r.  once  more  at 
Ned  shot  swiftly 
m  in  the  interval 
e  was  nothing  for 


OVER    TFIE    DAM 


225 


him  to  hold  on  by  except  the  smooth,  slippery  crown 
piece. 

Yet,  with  a  strength  l)orn  of  desperation,  lie  did  suc- 
ceed in  grasping  this,  digging  his  nails  into  the  wet 
wood  and  thereby  withstanding  the  pitiless  pressure  of 
the  icy  waters. 

Jiut  no  human  being  could  sustain  such  an  effort 
long.  Ned's  endurance  had  been  taxed  to  the  utmost. 
Every  muscle  and  sinew  had  borne  all  that  it  was  ca- 
pable of,  and  just  as  the  rope  for  the  second  time  came 
floating  down  toward  him,  he  gave  a  heartrending  cry, 
let  go  his  hold  and,  amid  a  chorus  of  groans  from  the 
appalled  onlookers,  was  swept  over  the  top  of  the  dam 
and  hurled  into  the  pool  forty  feet  below,  whose  foam- 
flecked  whirls  instantly  closed  over  his  head. 

There  was  a  wide  space  of  open  water  at  the  foot  of 
the  dam,  and  then  the  ice  closed  solidly  from  bank  to 
bank  for  a  distance  of  three  hundred  yards,  beyond 
which  was  another  opening  caused  by  a  series  of  shal- 
lows. 

No  one  who  witnessed  his  descent  into  the  pool  ex- 
pected ever  to  see  Ned  Burbank  alive  again,  yet  actu- 
ated by  a  common  impulse,  they  all  rushed  down  the 
bank  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  open  water  at  the 
shallows.  His  body  must  reapjiear  there,  unless  in 
some  way  it  should  be  caught  underneath  the  ice. 

Frank  Fairman  led  the  crowd.  He  lov(;d  Ned  and 
would  have  dared  anything  to  aid  him  had  there  been 
an  opportunity.  As  he  reached  the  spot  where  the 
white  sheet  of  ice  gave   way  to   black   and    troul)led 


It 


336 


OVER   THE    DAM 


m 


water,   liis  quick  eye  .aught  sight  of  some  thing  that 
caused  him  to  shout  : 

'•There  he  is!     I  see  him  !  " 

'1-he  next  moment,  thinking  not  of  the  risk,  he 
bounded  down  the  bank  and.  springing'  into  the  .ce- 
roid water,  forced  his  way  through  it  until  he  had  hold 
of  the  limp,  apparently  lifeless  body  of  his  fnend. 

Some  of  the  men  were  close  behind  him,  and  m  an- 
other moment  Ned  was  out  of  the  water  and  bemg 
hurried  to  the  miller's  hoi.se.  Frank  leading  the  way 
a,id  seeking  to  cheer  both  himself  and  the  others  by 
asserting  confidently  : 

<'  He's  not  dead  ;  he's  only  fainted.      He'll  come  to 

ill!  right." 

\s  it  happily  turned  out.  Frank's  faith  in  Ned  s  re- 
covery proved  well  founded.  The  doctor  happened  to 
be  right  at  hand.  Under  his  directions  life  came  back 
,0  the  insensible  form,  and  at  the  end  of  an  hour  Ned 
was  able  to  ask  in  a  da/ed  way  : 

"  What's  up  ?     Did  I  go  over  the  dam  ?  " 
Thanks  to  his  splendid  constitution  and  sturdy  frame 
he  suffered  slight  conse.piences  from  his  terrible  expe- 
rience, but  he  did  not  fail  to  let  it  teach  him  the  les- 
son of  greater  prudence  in  the  future. 


f  somiil'ing  that 


of  the  risk,  he 
inj'  into  the  icc- 
until  he  had  hold 
)f  his  friend. 

I  him,  and  in  an- 
water  and  being 
leading  the  way 

.nd  the  others  by 

].     He'll  come  to 

niith  in  Ned's  re- 
octor  happened  to 
ons  life  came  back 
d  of  an  hour  Ned 

dam?" 

II  and  sturdy  frame 
I  his  terrible  expe- 

teach  him  the  les- 
e. 


'^il^fe;,??®;'? 


1^: 


15? ^ 


HI'IKIO  are  ghost  sioiics  and  giio,,! 
stories.      Some  arc  true  in  the 

■'"'    '*^'     ■  -^         foundation     in     iiliysical     fad; 

others  a,.'  •'o'er  true"  in  the 
sense  (jf  being  men;  inventions 
of  the  imagination.      I'liose  tiiat 

I  am    ah(jul    \.o    tell    may  i)e    confidently  accepted    as 

belonging  to  t!ie  former  class. 

r. 

No  one  that  knew  Hilly  Patterson  would  be  likely  to 
accuse  him  of  any  lack  of  courage.  He  was  too  sturdy 
of  build  and  determined  of  countenance  for  that. 
Moreover,  he  was  rather  inclined  to  be  boastful  of  his 
freedom  from  nervousness  and  of  his  indillerence  to 
what  might  be  very  startling  to  a  less  stolid  jierson. 

In  the  api)earance  of  ghosts  he  did  not  believe.  No 
haunted  house  had  any  terrors  for  aim,   he  asserted. 


I 


Ipl 


228  A    TRIO    <'l'    Tl^^JE    GHOST    STORIKS 

As  there  happened  to  be  no  haunted  houses  in  the 
neighborliood,  this  assertion  Nvent  un.lKiUenged  ;  but 
several  limes  he  was  n.ade  the  subject  of  pra.t.eal  jokes 
intended  to  give  him  a  scare.  In  every  instance,  how- 
over  he  had  gotten  the  best  of  it,  and  his  reputation 
for  Courage  went  ins.alhed  until  the  night  he  saw  the 
apparition  at  Shirtev's  bay. 

liiUy  was  an  aident  sportsman    and   every  autumn 
betook  himself  to  Shirley's   l'.ay   to   shoot    the   ducks 
wliich  came  there  in  great  nu.ubers  to  feed  on  the  wdd 
rice  that  grew  abundantly.      His  camping  ground  was  a 
small,    well-wooded   island   at   the   mouth  of   -he  bay. 
He  did  n.)t  take  a  tent.     The  f.rst  week  in  September 
could  be  safely  counted  upon  as  being  free  from  rain, 
,na  there  was  a  sort  of  shanty  on  the  island  that  suited 
him  well  enough.     He  reached  his  camping  groun^  just 
in  lime  to  settle  himself  in  the   shanty,  .gather  a  lot  o 
firewood,  and  prepare  himself  a  good  supper,  whereof 
he  ate  heartily  ;  shortly  afterward   he  rc'ied  up  m  his 
blanket  and  went  to  sleep.     The  shanty  was  all  open  in 
front  and  the  fire  had  been  built  dose  to  it.      Helcr,-e 
turning  in.  Hilly  ,.ut  a  lot  of  wood  on  the   fire,  for  the 
night  air  felt  rather  chilly. 

He  had  been  asleep  about  ".vo  hours  when  he  was 
awakened  by  something  brushing  his  face,  while  a  warm 
breath  made  itself  felt  upon  his  cheek.  Lifting  his  head 
with  a  start,  his  eyes  met  the  most  extraordinary  object 
thev  had  ever  seen  ;  for  standing  right  over  him  was  a 
hor'rible  being,  only  half  revealed  by  fitful  flashes  from 
the  fast-dying  fire,  that  surely  could  be  no  other  than 


ed  houses  in  the 
inchallciigcd  ;  but 
t  of  jiraitical  jokes 
cry  instance,  how- 
nd  his  reputation 
night  he  saw  the 

md   every  autumn 
shoot    the   ducks 
:o  feed  on  the  wild 
iping  ground  was  a 
mouth  of   .he  bay. 
veek  in  September 
ing  free   from  rain, 
e  island  tliat  suited 
;aniping  grounfl  just 
nty.  .gather  a  lot  of 
od  supper,  whereof 

he  rc'ied  up  in  his 
lanty  was  all  open  in 
close  to  it.      Before 

on  the   fire,  for  the 

I  hours  when  he  was 
lis  face,  while  a  warm 
cek.  Lifting  his  head 
extraordinary  object 
right  over  him  was  a 
by  fitful  flashes  from 
iM  be  no  other  than 


.\    TKIU    ()!■     rKUE   (.HUbl    ariiKli;;^ 


12<J 


the  evil  one  himself,  as  shown  in  theatrical  i)erform- 
aiues.  There  were  tlic  horns,  tiie  iioofs,  liie  shaggv. 
saturnine  visage,  the  bla/iug  eyes.  t!ie  horrible,  sneer- 
ing smile. 

With  a  jiic:  :ing  cry  of  terror  that  startled  the  duds 
dozing  among  i.ie  wikl-rice  beds  and  sent  them  off  in 
quacking  llight.  Jiilly,  i)utliug  ail  iiis  strength  into  a 
frenzied  effort,  thing  the  awful  app.uition  from  him  so 
that  it  fell  prone  into  the  glowing;  embers;  and  then, 
rushing  frantically  to  the  shore,  he  sprang  into  his  canoe 
and  i)addled  to  the  mainland  witii  strenuous  strokes. 
i)etween  every  second  dij)  of  the  paddle  glancing  fear- 
Adly  over  his  shoidder  to  see  if  the  monster  was  follow- 
ing him. 

A  light  that  sent  its  friendly  rays  from  a  farmhouse 
winilow  was  his  beacon,  and  making  his  way  thither,  he 
related  his  alarming  experience  and  begged  permission 
to  remain  for  the  night.  I'iiis  was  readily  granted,  and 
the  next  morning  Hilly  persuaded  the  burly  farmer  and 
his  stalwart  son  to  accompany  him  back  to  the  island  in 
order  to  make  a  thorough  search  into  the  cause  of  his 
fright,  if  by  any  chance  it  could  be  discovered. 

Their  search  was  rewarded  with  success,  and  after  a 
fashion  that  made  Ih'Uy  feel  like  hidiufr  himself  in  the 
toe  of  his  own  shoe.  Hidden  away  where  the  under- 
brush was  thickest  they  found  a  huge  billy-goat,  the 
burnt  patches  on  whose  white  and  black  hide  left  no 
doubt  as  to  the  owner  thereof  being  the  untimely  dis- 
turber of  the  other  P)illy's  jieaceful  slumbers,  'i'he 
latter   made    the   farmer  and   his  son   promise   not  to 


¥  U: 


2'0  A    IKK'    OF   TKUIC   UKUSl    sToRIl'-S 

"mve  him  awav"  ;  but  somehow  the  story  leaked  ont, 
and  at-ler  it  did  he  was  no  longer  pernntted  lu  boast. 

II. 

There  was  a  locality  not  far  from  my  grandtather's 
estate.  u.N.naSeotia:.alled  need.  Hill.      The  lanni,H; 

fclk  about  had.ome  to  believe  that  this  Ikeeh  H.U  «as 
luuuued,  and  it  was  v.ith  fear  and  trembhng  that  they 
passed  over  it  after  dark.  There  were  no  houses  through- 
:,nt  its  length,  save  one  about  the  middle,  whi.  h  .  ertamly 
was  the  abode  of  spirits,  but  of  the  kind  that  dwe  1  ,n 
Lotties.  The  evil  reputation  (.•■  the  highway  jnst  there 
Treatly  helped  the  business  of  this  drinking  booth  as  .t 
;;.«  enstomarv  for  belated  waylurers  returning  home 
from  the  village  to  hall  for  an  infusion  ol  -Dut.h 
courage,"  ere  undertaking  the  remainder  of  the  way. 

About  a  mile  beyond  15ee.  h  Mil!  stood  S.,u.re  .dac- 
Donald's  store.  ( )ne  dreary  night  in  late  autumn  there 
came  thither  first  Rory  ()' More,  and  then  Sandy  H.g 
Tohn  and  finallv.  Ale.  C.iUies.  all  in  a  high  state  of  ex- 
:  citement  and  asserting  positively  that  they  had  seen  the 
.h<,st  on  Heeeh  Hill.  The  squire  was  a  shrewd  hard- 
,  headed,  and  unsuperstitious  Scotchman,  and  had  no 
filth  in  the  Heech  Hill  ghost. 

H.t  this  time  the  testunony  of  the  terrified  w.tnesses 
happened  t.  agree  remarkably.  The  ghost  had  ap- 
peared to  all  in  precisely  the  same  form,  as  a  white, 
shapeless  thing  that  rolled  along  the  ground  uttering 
shrill  and  threatening  shrieks.  The  matter  was  surely 
worth  looking  into. 


'm. 


'*•««! 


ii 


TORIES 


A    TRIO    OF    TRUE   GHOST    sTURlEb 


231 


•  story  leaked  out. 
milted  U)  boast. 


I  my  grnndfather's 
ilill.     The  tanning 
Lhis  lieedi  Hill  «as 
•embling  that  they 
no  houses  through- 
die,  whii  h  ( erlainly 
kind  tlial  tlwell  in 
;  highway  just  there 
rinking  booth,  as  it 
:rs   returning   home 
iifusion  ol"   '•  Dutch 
linder  of  the  way. 
stood  S(iuire   Mac- 
n  late  autumn  there 
and  then  Sandy  Big 
n  a  high  state  of  ex- 
at  lliey  had  seen  the 
was  a  shrewd,  hard- 
chman,  and  had  no 

he  terrified  witnesses 
'I'he  ghost   had   ap- 

ne  form,  as  a  white, 
the  ground  uttering 

he  matter  was  surely 


"Hark  ye.  now."  said  the  stjuire  at  last,  "  I  believe 
you're  nothing  better  than  a  parcx-l  of  foolish  boys  ;  and 
to  prove  it,  I'll  go  up  lieech  Hill  myself  and  ^ee  what 
it  is  that  has  come  so  nigh  scaring  the  life  out  of  yon." 

Thus  s|)eaking,  he  got  his  coat  and  hat  and  calling 
ui)on  them  to  follow  set  off  for  the  scene  of  the  ghost's 
walk.  Rory  and  Sandy  and  Alec  woukl  nun  h  rather 
have  been  excused,  but  pride  overcame  their  timiility 
and  they  followed.  Hardly  had  they  reached  the  fdot 
of  the  hill  when  the  shrieks  again  (;ame  to  their  ears. 

"'I'here  it  is  again  I  "  exclaimed  Rory,  with  trem- 
bling lips.      "  Can  ye  no  hear  it,  sipiire?" 

''"I'o  be  sure  I  can,"  resjionded  the  squire  stoutly, 
"and  I'm  going  to  see  what  it  is.      Come  along." 

The  distance  between  the  scpn're  and  his  followers  in- 
creased as  he  went  on,  while  the  shrieks  grew  louder. 

When  about  the  middle  of  the  ascent  he  saw  the 
ghost.  It  was  as  the  men  had  reported,  a  white  shape- 
less thing  rolling  upon  the  ground,  iuvl  ;\uin  it  i  ame 
the  piercing  cries  which  had  proved  so  alarming. 

doing  straight  up  to  the  thing,  the  squire  tone  hed  it 
with  his  foot,  then  bent  down  to  feel  it  with  his  hand, 
and  then  gave  a  roar  of  laughter  that  at  first  startled 
the  three  farmers  almost  as  much  as  the  ghost's  shrieks. 

"Come  here,  you  fools!"  he  shouted.  "Come 
and  see  what  your  ghost  is." 

In  a  hesitating  way  they  drew  near  and  examined  the 
cause  of  their  affright.  It  was  a  white  meal  bag  con- 
taining two  very  lively  young  pigs,  which  had  in  some 
way  fallen  off  a  farmer's  wagon  into  the  middle  of  the 


u 


wk 


232 


A    TRIO    <>1'    TKI-  '•    <'II<).ST    STORII-:S 


m 


iv 


road,  there  to  prove  a  sour,  e  of  terror  to  tlie  super- 
stitious ami  perliaps  not  altogether  sol.er  passers-by. 

111. 
One  woiikl  think  that  after  this  ,-x/>,>.sr  the  Heech 
Hill  giiost  ouglit  to  be  laid  for  gootl,  but  a  few  '  irs  later 
the  s.iuiro  ha.l  to  lay  the  ghost  again.  He  Lul  himself 
been  late  in  leaving  the  village  one  night,  and  on  rea.h- 
ing  his  shoi.  he  found  gathered  there  a  knot  of  men 
cagerlv  listening  to  Colin  Mackintosh's  account  of  the 
awfu!  api)arition  he  had  just  seen  on  the  I'.ee.  h  Hill. 
It  was  something  large  and  white,  and  every  time  it 
moved  a  ( hain  rattled  in  an  awful  manner. 

As  soon  as  tlie  squire  appeared  tlie  startling  story  was 
retold  to  him.  l)ut  nuu  h  to  the  chagrin  of  the  narrator, 
instead  of  being  deeply  impressed  thereby  he  laughed. 
••  Nou're  no  l)etter  than  a  lot  of  silly  women."  said 
he.  "to  believe  such  ridiculous  stories.  Come  ye  all  out 
to  the  door  and  I'll  show  you  the  ghost." 

At  the  door  stooil  his  wagon,  and  in  the  bottom  of  it 
lay  one  D-jnald  Mclsaac.  ovenome  by  drink,  while 
fastened  to  the  tailboard  was  his  big  white  horse. 

'•There!"  cried  the  scpiire.  i)ointing  to   the  horse. 
-That  is  your  ghost,  and  this,"  indicating  a  piece  of 
chain    on    the    bridle,  -is   what   you    heard   rattle.      I 
found  Donald  in  the  ditch  with  his  horse  standing  by." 

I'robablv  the  vast  majori^.y  of  ghosts  would  prove  to 
be  nothing  more  terrible  than  a  white  horse,  a  pair  < 
innocent  little  pigs,  or  a  billy-goat. 


lUKIl-S 

ror  to  tlie  siiper- 
icr  passers-by. 

•xf><>.u'  the  Hcech 
111  a  lew-  irs  later 
1  Ic  1(1  liimscll 
;ht.  ami  on  rcach- 
0  a  knot  of  iiK-n 
I's  account  of  the 
,  the  P.ee(h  Hill. 
111(1  every  time  it 
nner. 

startling  story  was 
in  of  the  narrator, 
lereliy  he  laughed, 
silly -women,"  said 
s.  Come  ye  all  out 
ost." 

in  the  bottom  of  it 
e    by   drink,   while 

white  horse, 
iting  to   the  horse, 
dicating  a  jnece  of 
u   heard   rattle.      1 
lorse  standing  by." 

)sts  would  i)rove  to 
lite  horse,  a  pair  r 


•wrTjfcj  ^»- 


S   the  side-wheel   steamer    ''Her- 
ald"   plowed    her  way   through 
St.  John's   Harbor  and   jjointed 
her  white  prow  toward 
ICast|)ort  the  wind  i)lew 
fresh  from  the  diu- 
geroiis  sou;  h- 
east. 

It  ca  .n  e 
.  ^  with  gusts 

of  rain  that 
t  h  e  weather- 
wise  knew  to  be 
the  forerunners  of  torrents.  Mut  ("ajitain  l^iown  seemed 
undisturbed  iiy  tlie  threatening  weather  as  he  stood  in 
the  high  wlieel-liouse  signaling  orders  by  the  gong  to 
the  engineer  below. 

No  navigator  of  fho.se  dangerous  coasts  had  better 

^3Z 


234 


DENNIS    nONAHUF.'s    VV.V.U 


knowledge  of  their  perils  than  Captain  lUown.    tie  vvas 
hi  own  pilot  and  he  prided  himself  on  the  re,u    r 
ofhistr.s.      Nothingshort  of.  hnrruan    would  iKue 
kept  hin»  in  port  when  he  ought  to  have   been  at  sea, 
-iccordinii  to  the  sthedule. 

The  'Herald-  had  a  full  .omplement  oi  passengers, 
and  all  the  freight  she  could  .omfortal.ly  carry      I  here- 
fore  her  captain  was  in  a  cheerful  frame  o,  m,nd  when 
Mr'  John  iiUis  pushed  his  head  in  at  the  wnulow  of 
the  wheel-house. 

'a-aptain,  don't  you   think  we're  gomg  ^o  ^^.ne   a 
rough  trip?"   said  Mr.   Cillis.  a  nervous,  m.ddle-agcd 

"'^"Hl^liyourheart.sir.andwhatifweareP'Maughed 
the  captain.      «  The  '  Herald  '  can  stand  ,t  all  serene^ 
She's  faced  a  deal  sight  worse  blows  than  .s  ahead  of 
her  to-day.  and  made  her  berth  on  time  nght  enough. 

Mr  C.illis  wore  an  encouraged  look  for  several  sec- 
onds. Then  a  flaw  of  rain  dashed  into  h,s  ace  as 
though  it  had  been  especially  flung  at  hm..  He  held 
his  h' t  on  with  both  hands  and  ga.ed  wUh  r.sn.g  trep.- 
dation  on  the  waves  wallowing  out  of  the  gray  storm 
tr,  ^t^ike  the  ship  with  audible  blows. 

Tht  p.ws  of  the  sea  seemed  to  be  playfully  smit.ng 
the  -  Herald."  Hut  it  was  with  the  gradually  .n-reas- 
ing  force  of  a  lion  cub.  that  wonders  at  the  resistance 
of  a  little  object  with  which  he  amuses  hm.se  f  At  n 
louder  slap  than  any  preceding.  Mr.  C.illis  looked  from 
the  ocean's  face  to  Captain  Hrown's. 

.<  Don't  be  a  bit  scared,  Mr.  CilUs,"  exclauned  the 


^■^Cj 


lUown.  »lc  was 
,n  llic  rcKularity 
•iiiu  woukl  liavc 
vc  been  at  sea. 

nt  ot  i)assengcrs, 
ily  carry.  There - 
ic  of  mind  when 
;U  the  window  of 

going  to  liave  a 
•ous,  middle-aged 

,ve  are?"  laughed 
and  it  all  serene, 
i  than  is  ahead  of 
ue  right  enough." 
ok  for  several  sec- 
1   into   his  fare   as 
at  him.      He  held 
d  with  rising  trepi- 
of  the  gray  storm 

be  playfully  smiting 
;  gradually  increas- 
rs  at  the  resistance 
ises  himself.  .\t  a 
C.illis  looked  from 

Ills,"  exclaimed  the 


DENNIS  Donahue's  deed 


235 


captain.      "'I'his    is   iiotliiiig    to  what    it  will    lie  out- 
side." 

Mr.  Gillis  groaned  as  lie  ( areftdly  descended  to  the 
cabin,  where  he  wedged  himself  tightly  iiit.i  a  corner 
seat  and  thought  his  wife  and  (  hildren  (oiikl  never  be 
grateful  eiiougli  to  hint  for  eiKountering  these  terrors 
for  tluir  sake. 

IJown  the  bay  of  Kundy  the  wind  blew  "great  guns" 
and  the  "Herald's"  tossing  became  so  violent  that 
nearly  all  tiie  passengers  took  refuge  in  tiieir  staterooms 
to  struggle  with  the  horrors  of  seasickness. 

"  I  reckon  we  are  going  to  have  a  rough  time  of  it," 
said  the  cajjlain  to  I'irst  Mate  Donahue,  at  the  wheel. 
"Jhit  if  nothing  happens,  we'll  get  into  iiastport  all 
right  before  dark." 

"Not  much  fear  of  our  missing  that,  sir,"  replied 
Donahue;  "the  steamer's  doing  finely,  seeing  the 
wind's  dead  against  her." 

They  had  moved  out  from  the  wharf  at  midday.  Six 
hours'  steady  steaming  should  bring  them  to  Mastport. 
Split  Rock  and  Dipper  Harbor  were  already  far  behind, 
and  I'oint  {.ej^reaux  was  drawing  near.  .Now  the  wind 
was  a  gale  and  the  rain  a  cascade.  Through  the  dark 
rack  on  the  right  a  craggy  coast  line  loomed  ;  on  the  left 
the  turbid  billows  of  the  bay  foamed  out  their  fury  upon 
one  another's  backs.  hew  sails  were  in  sight,  and  all 
were  scudding  under  half-s..il  for  a  haven,  not  daring  a 
defiant  tussle  with  such  a  storm. 

The  jib  and  foresail  of  the  "Herald"  had  been 
hoisted  to  steady  her,   a:: J   were   doing  good  service 


DENNIS    PONAHUE'S   nKEO 

..,,.„"i,MlH..UM..la.U'na».l»'''    >■''»;,  ^ 
„.l,..l.UwyfaiW.l....»"<Kl»--"l""'-''^"""''' 

of  a  l„„n.anc.      Ini  sm    a  ^_^^^^    ^^j„, 

camas.  .orJaB.-.  ami  ''l'"""-'""'  l""'\„.,„  „,,,,  ,,ill  an.l 

^-rr;rra:,:t„...o;."..- 

:a,;:;:;..uHa...a„,..r.o-s^^^^^^^^^ 

.,,.,.„   wavkaBO  «■,«..,..  ^.^     Infers.    CakcU.C 

fn.in  below.  ,-,.  ^,    {  ^i^eot, 

..Cut  away  ihat  stay.    Ja<k!     (  a  t  o^ 


Mike! 


Vend  off  the  mast  there.  Andy  . 


passengers  poured  upstairs. 


of  those  squalls 
upon  Uic  strain- 
avc  «;in.«.iu<l  liU 
It  iluTC  was  ni) 
camcT.  rixiu^ih 
c  rttrciigtli  m  il>c 
f  enough  to  bring 

e  shii).  and  then 
Dfcc  were  not  that 
seconils— still  the 
cut  foremast .  with 

I,  ;  the   mast  ^ave 
ed   a  conlusion    oi 

mast  heUl  still  and 
;   "Herald's"   lee. 
on   the   irest  she 
■n  her  bow  plunged 
overboard. 
he  paddle-wheel  !" 

II.  Jelfers.    take  the 
ue,kec\.  her  straight 

to  the  deck,  shout- 
nJs  who   rushed    up 

Cast  off  that  sheet, 

Andy:" 

Icrs  just  as  a  mob  of 


DKNNIS    DUN  AH  UK's    UKKU 


237 


"Co  down;  down,  I  say!"  roared  the  captain. 
"  Clear  my  deeks.  I'.ai  k  to  the  rabin.  (iivg  us  ruum 
and  we're  all  ni^lit.      I)uwn,  I  say  !  " 

llefore  leaving  ilic  wheel-liouse  lie  liad  rung  for  the 
engine  to  be  reversed,  ami  the  paddle-wheel  luid 
stopped  after  two  more  revolutions.  Ihit  the  mi>ihiel 
had  been  done  already.  The  wie(  kage,  driven  right 
under  the  big  padtlle-wlieel  by  the  onward  motion  of 
the  vessel,  had  become  entangled  among  tiie  lloats.  .\ 
rope  caught  in  one,  and  drew  the  jib  alter.  One  ot 
the  steel  guys  followed.  It  lifted  the  mast  against  the 
paddle-wheel,  and  the  "Herald"  had  lost  all  i)ower  to 
move.  Not  one  fijot  forward  could  she  go  till  the 
liad<lle-wheel    liould  be  liberated. 

In  ordinal*  weather  this  would  be  no  light  matter; 
but  ( rowded  as  the  bay  usually  was  with  shi])ping,  help 
woidd  no  doubt  have  speedily  come.  liut  in  the  nn'dst 
of  a  gale,  with  the  wind  dri\ing  the  vessel  straight  u])on 
the  terrible  headland  of  Point  I.epreaux,  the  situation 
of  the  steamer  was  full  of  ))eril. 

Down  below,  one  hundred  and  twenty-seven  passen- 
gers huddled  together  in  panic.  Some,  not  altogether 
bereft  of  sense,  began  ])reparations  to  save  themselves 
when  the  steamer  should  strik".  .A  cool  spectator  might 
have  thought  some  of  their  actions  comii  al.  Mr.  (Jillis, 
taking  handken  hiefs  from  his  gripsack,  tied  si.x  stools 
tightly  together,  quite  overlooking  the  fixct  that  his  im- 
provised raft  was  too  big  to  be  gotten  out  of  the  cabin. 
•Another  passenger  emptied  his  two  trunks  and 
strapped  them  together.     Several  turned  tables  iq)si(le 


1  i 


238 


DENNIS    noNAHUF.'S    PKED 


■$• 


down,  ^at  in  them,  and  held  desperately  on  by  the  legs 
Then  a  dandified  young  man  came  with  an  armful  of 
nat  cork  life-preservers,  and  coolly  tossed  them  around. 
When  all  these  were  gone,  he  still  held  a  circular  or 

ring  float.  .    ,, 

'•  (live  me  that  if  you're  a  man  !  "   shrieked  a  mid.lle- 

aged  lady  "f  great  girth.  .     ,  ,  • 

'.  With  pleasure,  madame,"  he  said,  and  he  had  h.s 
reward  in  watching  her  frantic  effort  to  get  into  a  hole 
not  large  enough  to  accommodate  her  shoulders.  Sud- 
denly she  threw  it  down,  cried  -  toward  1  "  and  wad- 
dled after  the  crowd  th.t  had  run  for  the  rest  of  the 

cork  floats. 

Up  on  deck  there  was  no  funny  element  to  be  seen. 
The  steamer,  lying  now  in  the  trough,  was  momentar.ly 
hammered  by  the  broken  mast.  Though  the  mam- 
stays  of  steel  rope  had  now  been  cut  away  from  the 
dock,  the  wreckage  was  firmly  held  to  the  paddle-box. 
Against  it  the  "  Herald  "  N.as  more  and  more  presseu 
by  the  fierce  wind.  Three  men  had  entered  the  pad- 
dle-box, and  returned  to  report  that  there  was  a  tangle 
of  canvas  and   rope  and  wire  lower  down   than   they 

dared  to  venture. 

.'  We're  in  a  bad  fix,  Donahue,"  said  the  captain. 

"Faith,  we  are,  sir." 

"If  we  don't  get  the  wheel  clear  inside  of  an  hour 

we'll  be  on  the  point." 

"  We've  got  to  get  it  clear,  sir." 

"'Got  to'-yes.      T.otto.'      But  how?      That  s 
the  .luestion.     Great  heavens  !     There  are  a  hundred 


:d 

^  on  by  the  legs. 
Ih  an  armful  of 
:d  them  around. 
;ld  a  circular  or 

irieked  a  middlc- 

,  and  he  had  his 
I  get  into  a  hole 
shoulders.  Sud- 
ard  1 ' '  and  wad- 
)r  the  rest  of  the 

ment  to  be  seen. 

was  momentarily 
hough  the  main- 
it  away  from  the 
1  the  paddle-box. 
md  more  pressed 
entered  the  pad- 
there  was  a  tangle 

down   than   they 

said  the  captain, 
inside  of  an  hour 


^ut  how?      That's 
2re  are  a  hundred 


^ 


nr.NNrs  donamuk'.s  deed 

and  thirty  souls  aboard  !  And  "ni  at  the  end  of  my 
plans." 

"Faith,  then,  I'm  not.  sir.  (Jive  me  that  axe, 
Mike  I  "   lie  yelled  to  one  of  the  deck  hands. 

"What  are  you  going  to  try,  Dennis?"  cried  the 
captain. 

"There's  only  one  thing,  captain.  That's  to  get 
the  wheel  clear. ' ' 

"  But  how?  how?     There's  nothing  to  be  done." 

"Let  me  try,  captain.  Hoy  there,  men!"  roared 
Dennis,  suddenly  taking  command  ;  "upon  tiie  pad- 
dle-bo.\  with  you!  Cut  away  the  boarding!  Mike, 
fetch  nie  a  couple  of  cold-chisels  and  a  heavy  hammer 
from  the  engine-room.  'J'hat's  right,  boys;  smash  a 
big  hole.  Don't  hurt  the  frame  timber.  Captain,  I'll 
go  down  the  floats  and  see  what  I  can  do.  You  stand 
by  to  pass  me  the  tools  I'll  be  calling  for." 

"You'll  be  drowned,  Dennis.  See  the  roll  of  her! 
You'll  be  under  water  half  the  time." 

"What  of  that,  sir?  It's  the  one  chance  for  the 
boat." 

"Man  alive,  but  you're  a  sailor!"  cried  the  de- 
lighted captain.      "  Dennis,  I'll  go  down  with  you." 

"Faith,  you  won't,  sir  !  You're  a  family  man;  and 
more  than  that,  it's  your  captain's  duty  to  command. 
Now  then,  boys  ;  stand  back  till  I  get  into  that  hole." 

Now  the  helpless  .iteamer  was  burying  her  gunwales 
at  every  roll.  The  higher  crests  broke  upon  the  decks, 
and  flung  heavy  caps  of  water  through  the  smashed 
windows  of  the  saloon,  against  the  panic-stricken  pas- 


i 


240 


DENNIS    DON. mile's    DKED 


sengers.  Some  <lu.>g  to  tlie  posts  that  held  up  the 
cabin  roof;  some  wore  flung  against  the  walls;  some  lay 
moaning  ;  and  more  crouched  in  prayer. 

Meanwhile  the  man  who  risked  his  life  to  save  them, 
was  holding  to  the  Hoats  as  the  ship,  listing  far  to  .ee- 
ward.  con^.letely  buried  him  in  the  sea.      When  slie 
rocked  him  up  again  he  plied  cold-.hisel  and  hammer 
Donahue  had  soon  seen  that  the  place  where  work 
was  really  needed  was  on  a  float  at  the  rear  of  the  pad- 
dle-box, near  where  that  stru.-ture  rose  from  the  tim- 
bers carrying  the   upper  deck.      Had   the   "Herald 
been  lying  .pnetly  at  her  wharf,  that  float  would  have 
been  a  little  higher  out  of  water  than  the  man.  deck 
floor.      It  was  the  last  float  which  had  gone  up  nito  the 
paddle-box  after  coming  from  the  water. 

Up  above  this  float,  and  over  to  the  front  ot  the 
wheel,  the  rope  and  jib  had  been  drawn,  after  gomg 
under  the  paddle-wheel.  Behind  them  came  the  wre 
rope  This  had  been  drawn  in  till  it  became  tau  by 
p.luing  the  mast  against  the  front  of  the  wheel-box, 
where  it  protruded  above  the  water. 

Had  the  wire  rope's  end  been  fastened  to  the  .«^'' 
the  job  of  freeing  the  float  would  have  been  less  d.ffi- 
cult  But  the  sail  had  enwrapped  the  w:re  m  such  a 
.vay  as  to  draw  its  loose  end  over  the  float  and  drop  >t 
down  when  the  wheel  stopped. 

In  some  inexplicable  manner,  possibly  by  the  rock- 
ing of  the  ship  and  the  action  of  the  waves  the  loose 
end  of  the  wire  rope  had  become  entangled  n.  the 
wreckage  below,  after  passing  over  the  float.      Donahue 


:ei) 

hat  held   up  the 

ic  walls;  some  lay 

er. 

life  to  save  them, 

listing  (iir  to  ^fe- 

sea.  When  she 
iscl  and  hammer. 

place  where  work 
e  rear  of  the  i)ad- 
)sc  from  the  tim- 
(1  the  "Herald" 

float  would  have 
an  the  main  deck 
J  gone  up  into  the 
ter. 

)  the  front  of  the 
drawn,  after  going 
liem  came  the  wire 

it  became  taut  by 

of  the  wheel-box, 

astened  to  the  sail 
liave  been  less  diffi- 
1  the  wire  in  such  a 
he  float  and  drop  it 

ossibly  by  the  rock- 
ihe  waves,  the  loose 
le  entangled  in  the 
the  float.      Donahue 


DENNIS    nONAHUE's    nEEP 


241 


saw  tliat  it  must  be  cut  loose  at  the  low  float,  else  it 
would  ( ontinue  to  ait  as  a  brake  on  the  wlieil.  'I'lic 
rope  and  sail  iiighcr  up  liad  already  been  tt)rn  awa\  hy 
the  men  after  lliey  had  cut  away  the  i)()artling  of  the 
paddle-box. 

He  <lainl)ered  tlown  with  (old-iiiisci  and  lianimer, 
struck  twice  and  went  under  as  the  ship  careened. 
Over,  over  she  listed,  till  the  men  above  had  to  lean 
against  the  box  to  keep  their  footing.  Then  she  slowly 
U]jrose. 

The  captain,  looking  down  the  great  hole  cut  out  of 
the  boarding,  saw  his  mate's  head  lonie  up.  Donahue 
shook  it,  raised  his  hammer  and  struck  again.  Orce, 
twice, — six  times — he  disappeared  again  under  the  sea. 

No  man  can  strike  well  in  so  small  a  space  as  that 
which  was  left  for  Donahue's  working,  even  if  <lrv  and 
warm  and  steadily  supported.  A  cpiarter  of  an  hour 
passed.  The  ship  was  within  a  mile  of  the  breakers 
pounding  on  Point  Lepreaux,  and  still  the  steel  rope 
was  uncut. 

Time  and  again  the  mate  went  under,  time  and  again 
doggedly  resumed  his  endeavor.  l':ach  time  the  vessel 
seemed  to  list  more,  and  each  minute  the  wind  and 
waves  grew. 

"  He  can't  live  down  there  ten  minutes  longer.  (Jo 
down  and  take  your  turn,  Jack."  cried  the  captain. 

"  Not  for  the  ship,"  said  Jack. 

"You,  Mike." 

"Not  a  fut  for  all  the  gould  in  St.  John,"  said 
Mike. 


I 


u 


242 


nF.NMS  ponaiiuk's  deed 


U' 


..Then    IMl   go    myself!"    exclaimed    ih.    captain 

""£'at  that  instant  the  steamer  was  pressed  over  by 
,  wilder  wind  than  any  bel^^re.      Down  -"^  ^^l^^^; 
aown  and  down.     The  i>assengers  cned  w.th    ca     to 
.low  at  last  they  were  sure  she  would  "turn  turtle. 

When  she  righted  Donahue  was  not  to  be  seen. 

..He's   gone!"      "He   lost    h,s    hold    and    '.ent 
,,,acr:"       -He's  drowned!-  cried  th  •  deck  hands, 
ua/ing  down  into  the  paddle-box. 
'captain  Brown  said  nothing.      He  prepared  to  act 
■,,e  ine  chance  for  his  passengers  and  sh.p  seenu^^ 
Ue  that  he  might  complete   Donahue's  wor^-      M- 
over,  h.  was  goaded  to  effort  by  shame  that  h.s  mate 
had  been  left  to  die  alone. 

Captain  Brown  entered  the  paddle-box  as  the  ves^e 
W.S  rising.     As  he  looked  down  he  saw  a  man  s  hands 
,    g  ng    to    the    wire-bound    float.       Next    moment 
)  nalL-s    head    appeared.       He   ^aj^bered     eeb 
above    reach   of   the   .-ater   and    sat   down.     Captam 
Brown  descended  to  him.  ,, 

..Donahue  !     Man  alive,  T  thought  you  were  gone. 
«  So  I  was.      I  lost  my  grip.      Somehow  the  wreck- 
age stopped  me  and  I  caught  on,  I  don't  know  how.  as 
she  came  down  again.      Are  we  near  shore  ? 

"  Half  a  mile."  .         ^     ^ 

..  My  God-the  people  on  board  !  Captam  ge  me 
a  saw.  Maybe  I  can  saw  through  the  float  and  let  the 
wire  go.     I  can't  cut  it  through."  _^ 

"  I'  11  do  it,  Donahue.     You'  re  used  up. 


in 

icd    ih-^    captain 

pressed  over  by 
1  went  Donahue, 
led  with  fear,  lor 
d  "turn  tvirtle." 
J  be  seen, 
hold  and  \v*"nt 
Ih  •  deck  hands, 

;  prepared  to  act. 
id  ship  seemed  to 
e's  work.  More- 
ime  that  his  mate 

e-box  as  the  vessel 

saw  a  man's  hands 

Next    moment 

clambered    feebly 

It   down.     Captain 

ht  you  were  gone." 
Dmehow  the  wreck- 
don' t  know  how,  as 
,r  shore?  " 

i !     Captain,  get  me 
the  float  and  let  the 

used  up." 


1  )KN  M.S    1  )<  I  \  A 1 1  L'  !•:  >    I  )KEI) 


243 


"  (Jet  the  saw  !  "    shouted  Dunaluie. 

When  lie  liad  it  in  iiis  hand  he  descendrtl  aj^aiii  to 
the  float  and  went  under,  and  <amc  fortli  and  wont 
under  again  and  again.  Hut  the  men  above  thoughl 
he  never  stopped  sawing.  Death  seemed  eagerly  wail- 
ing for  them,  hut  they  broke  into  cheer  atkr  duer  as 
they  hjheld  tlie  resolute  man  rise  sawing  awav  as  if  he 
had  never  ceased,  while  submerged,  to  work  for  tiieir 
lives. 

'I'he  "  Herald"  was  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  Point 
Lepreaux  wlien  Donahue  looked  up,  stojijied  sawing. 
and  signaled,  "  (io  ahead." 

"Come  up,"  cried  the  captain. 

Donahue  tried  to  lift  himself,  but  he  was  exhausted. 

"Go  ahead,"  he  signaled  again. 

"I'd  sooner  lose  the  shi]..  mate  .'"  shouted  Captain 
Brown,  and  he  clambered  down  to  Donahn--  just  in 
time  to  prevent  him  from  being  washed  away  as  both 
went  under. 

Then  Captain  Brown  struggled  up  till  the  men  took 
his  mate  from  his  grasj).  Donahue  was  still  able  to 
sjieak.  "Go  ahead,"  he  said.  "The  float  will  break 
away  now,  and  she'll  clear  herself." 

The  captain  sprang  up  to  the  wheel-house  and  rang 
the  order.  The  machinerj-  began  to  move.  For  a 
moment  there  was  resistance.  Then  the  sawed  float 
broke  away  and  released  the  wire  ro|)e.  'Hie  mast  fell 
back  to  the  water.  Both  port  and  starboard  wheels 
turned  freely  in  their  boxes.  The  steamer  soon  an- 
swered her  helm. 


;|t',' 


SV 


244 


DKNNIS    noN.MlUI'-'s    DKl'-D 


With  tlK  crags  c.f  l>oint  Lcpreaux  so  cW  to  her 
that  .  child  on  do.:k  might  have  hit  then  w.lh  a  biscu.t, 
the  '•  HcraUl"  once  nu.rc  breasted  the  wave.. 

\l„-..'>^   l!av    past  the  dreadef' 
On  she  went  across   Ma(.e  s   i-ay,  iw^t 

.'WoUes."  around  Head  Harbor  Point  and  down  the 
eastern  passage  to  llastport.  reaching  her  berth  >n  safety 

ere  the  liarkness  fell.  1      .u  , 

A  large  purse  was  raised  for  Dennis  Donahue  by  the 
hundred  and  thirty  people  on  board,  and  they  showered 
thanks  on  his  heroism.  Dennis  laugh.ngly  -'tused  the 
purse,  and  was  uneasy  under  the  expressions  of  grat- 

^"'-\h   thin,  what  a  talk  about  nothing,"  said  Dennis. 
-  Sure  I  was  only  doing  me  duty  by  the  ould  -  Herald 
and  the  company's  passengers  and  me  captam.      (-ve 
me   a  p.rse.   is  it?     Bedad.   I'd   have   no  conce.t  of 
meself  at  all  if  I  touched  a  thripenny  bit  that  ye  ve 
raised." 


WPi 


*-*iftiiy 


I) 

so  close  to  her 
n  with  a  biscuit, 
waves, 
ast  iho  clreadc' 
t  aiul  down  the 
jr  berth  in  safety 

Donahue  by  the 
kI  ihcy  showered 
ingly  refused  the 
)ressions  of  grati- 

ig,"  said  Dennis, 
eould  -Herald" 
le  captain.      C-ive 
ve    no  conceit  of 
ny  bit  that  ye've 


M  RESCMi 


,  Cl.ICK-CI.ACK  of  iron-shdd 
iioufs  striking  in  (|ui(:k  succes- 
sion upon  tiie  slimy,  sli])i)ery 
floor  of  the  long,  dark  level, 
the  repeating  rattle  of  the  "  rake  "  as  the  <  iiain  of  (  oal 
tubs  is  called,  and  the  growing  glmiiner  of  a  "  Davy," 
told  Dannie  Robertson,  one  of  the  "trappers"  in 
the  Springhill  Mines,  of  the  ajjproach  of  Da\e  N'orris, 
the  driver  whose  route  lay  through  Dannie's  door. 

'I'he  young  trapper  was  sharplv  on  the  watch  for  the 
rake,  and  did  not  need  Dave's  cheery  call  of  "  Hello, 
there,  Dannie  !  Here  we  are  again,  \\ake  up,  now, 
and  open  that  door,"  in  order  to  be  ready  to  fling  open 
the  heavy  door  whii  h  he  tended  during  the  long  days 
of  darkness.      He   and    Dave   were  great   friends,    and 

245 


^^ 


246 


THE    i<ESCUE   OK    I.ITTI.K    JUD 


Ik 


J 

i  i  ' 


the  latter' s  passing  to  and  fro  between  the  cuttings  and 
tlie  shaft,  his  little  train  of  cars  roarinji  down  full  and 
rattling  hack  eini)ty.  formed  almost  the  only  break  in 
the  monotony  of  Dannie's  dreary  task. 

It  was  the  way  at  the  Springhill  Mines  for  each  driver 
to  take  a  trai)i)er  under  his  special   patronage  and  pro- 
tection.     Sometimes,   of  course,  this  meant  a  certain 
amount  of  bullying  on  the  one  side  and  of  fagging  on 
the  other,  but  usually  it  turned  out  a  good  arrangement 
for  the  little  trapper,  who  was  thus  assured  of  a  sturdy 
champion  in  case  of  need.      Dave  Norris  was  Dannie's 
protector,   and   always   treated   him   with  a  rough   but 
hearty  kindness   tiiat   had   comi)letely  won   the    boy's 
heart.      Often  on  his  way  back  from  the  shaft  he  would 
stop  for  a  bit  of  a  chat,  provided  there  was  no  sign  of 
the  overman.      To  Dannie's  delight  he  checked  his  old 
gray  horse  this  time,  and  as  soon  as  the  big-  door  had 
been  duly  closed  the  trapper  ran  after  his  friend  and 
climbed  into  the  car  beside  him. 

"How's  it  going.  Dave?"   said  he,  a  bright  smile 
breaking  through  the  grime  on  his  plump  face. 

"All  serene.  Dannie,"  was  the  reply.  "But  say, 
I've  made  a  match  for  you,"  Dave  went  on  quickly, 
for  hi.i  halt  could  be  only  a  short  one.  "Tom  Hogan 
says  his  tra\)per  can  knock  sjjoIs  out  of  you,  and  I've 
bet  him  he  can't.  So  we  fixed  it  for  you  to  fight  him 
jn  the  big  cutting  it  dinner  hour  to-morrow.  You'll 
be  all  ready,  eh?" 

The  smile  had  vanished  from   Dannie's  face  while 
the  driver  was  speaking,  and  had  they  both  been  above 


l^L, 


Tllli    Ul-aClK   Ol'    I  iriLK   jur) 


247 


J  cuttings  and 
lown  full  and 
only  break  in 

for  each  driver 
nage  and  pro- 
.•ant  a  certain 

of  fagging  on 
d  arrangement 
ed  of  a  sturdy 
i  was  Dannie's 
1  a  rough  hut 
,on  the  boy's 
shaft  he  would 
vas  no  sign  of 
hecked  his  old 

big-  door  had 
his  friend  and 

a  bright  smile 
|)  face. 

y.  ' '  But  say, 
nt  on  cjuickly, 
"Tom  Hogan 
r  vou,  and  I've 
on  to  fight  him 
lorrow.      You'll 

lie's  face  while 
oth  been  above 


ground  Dave  could  hardly  have  failed  to  notice,  even 
through  tlie  obscuring  layer  of  (Dal  dust,  the  burning 
blush  that  had  risen.  But  though  he  ( utdd  not  see 
this,  he  did  observe  Dannie's  hesitation  in  replying, 
and  mistaking  its  reason,  hastened  to  add  : 

"Oh,  it'll  be  all  right  about  the  'oor.  We'll  get 
one  of  the  other  boys  to  look  after  it,  and  we'll  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  for  tlie  overman,  so  there's  no  fear  of 
your  being  caught." 

Still  Dannie,  instead  of  giving  a  brisk  assent,  as 
Dave  had  fully  exjjccted  him  to  do,  hung  his  head  in 
silence,  and  in  a  tone  of  surprise  not  unmixed  with 
irritation,  the  driver  demanded  ; 

"What's  uj)  with  you,  Dan  ie?  Why  are  you  so 
mum  ?  " 

It  was  evidently  with  great  difficulty  that  Dannie, 
looking  steadfastly  downward,  as  though  shrinking  from 
Dave's  impiiring  gaze,  got  out  the  words,  "  I'd  rather 
not  fight,  Dave.  I  don't  want  to  have  any  more 
fights." 

Dave's  response  was  first  a  whistle  of  astonishment 
and  then  a  torrent  of  indignant  questioning  and  i)ro- 
testing,  winding  up  with  a  roui.  1  of  coarse  abuse  when 
his  temper  had  altogether  got  the  better  of  him.  From 
his  point  of  view,  Dannie's  conduct  was  both  aggra- 
vating and  unreasonable  ir  the  highest  degree.  Never 
before  had  the  boy  taken  this  stand  ;  he  had  always 
responded  promptly  to  any  such  summons,  and  with 
unfailing  success.  Time  and  time  again  had  Dave 
Norris'   traj)per  taken  his  plaoe   in  the   extemporized 


248 


TllK    KKSCUK   Ol'    i.irn.K   JUI> 


f  i  1  , 

5   '  ' 


rin^'  in  the  l>i^'  cutting,  iuul  amidst  the  cheers  of  the 
M;i(k-faie(l  miners  proved  liis  siiiRTiority  at  fisticnffs  to 
any  utiier  traiii)er  in  the  mine.  Wiiat  then  lould  l)e 
the  meaning  of  his  iioliling  l)ack  now?  Was  it  pos- 
sihle  that  he  feared  to  face  I'om  Ilt)gan's  trajiper,  a 
new  l)oy  in  tlie  mine,  vhose  prowess  was  yet  to  he 
tested  ? 

It  would  perhaps  liave  been  better  if  Dannie  had 
attenipt'.d  to  explain  his  conduct  to  Dave,  but  a  shy- 
ness he  could  not  overcome  sealed  his  lii)s,  and  ]ires- 
enlly  Dave  drove  off  in  a  high  dudgeon,  leaving  Dan- 
nie in  a  very  miserable  state  of  mind. 

'•I'm  sorry  Dave's  so  mad,"  he  muttered,  "lint 
1  <an't  iielp  it.  I  promised  Mr.  Stirling  I'd  never 
fight  unless  1  had  to.  It's  against  the  rules  of  tiie  Mri- 
gade.  and  I'm  not  going  to  break  them  even  to  oblige 
Dave." 

'I'his  was  Dannie's  secret.  Only  a  fortnight  before 
he  had  joined  tlie  Hoy's  I'.rigade  in  connection  with 
the  Sunday-si  hool  of  St.  Matthew's  Church.  Mr. 
Stirling,  tlie  i)astor  of  the  church  and  ( ommander  of 
the  Ihigade,  knew  of  these  pri/.e-fights  in  the  i)it,  and 
was  doing  his  best  to  put  a  stop  to  them.  Hence  he 
was  especially  careful  in  enjoining  u])on  his  recruits 
that  they  should  never  take  part  in  another  fight. 

The  n?.\l  morning  Dave  renewed  his  efforts  to  jter- 
suade  Dannie  to  fight,  but  with  no  better  success  than 
before,  ac  finally  went  off  vowing  that  he'd  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  him.  and  that  he'd  make  him 
the  laughingstock  of  the  mine. 


*^4i|_.. 


JUI) 

e  cheers  of  tlie 
ty  at  fistiriifls  to 
t  then  luiild  be 

?  Was  it  pus- 
gan's  trapiier,  a 

was   yet   Id   he 

r  if  Dannie  had 
)ave,  but  a  shy- 
s  ll]>s,  and  ]ires- 
)n,  leaving   Dan- 

luttered.  "lint 
irling  I'd  never 
rules  of  the  l>ri- 
111  even  to  oblige 

fortnight  before 
connection  with 
;  Church.  Mr. 
1  commander  of 
s  in  the  i)it,  and 
em.  Hence  he 
l)on  his  recruits 
other  fight, 
lis  efforts  to  jier- 
ttcr  success  than 

lliat   he'd   have 
t  he'd  make  him 


1 


rnE  KE-sci  F.  OF  Lrrii.F.  !v\^ 


249 


It  was  a  trying  ordeal  through  whi(  h  the  jioor  boy 
had  now  to  |)ass.  Dave  fulfilled  his  threat  only  too 
well,  and  Dannie's  life  was  made  \vrct(  lied  by  his  piti- 
less taunts  and  the  luitspoken  ((Uitcmpt  ni  liic  other 
men  in  the  mine. 

"  I'm  not  a  (owartl,"  the  t(»rmented  trai>i)er  would 
say  to  himself.  "  Dave  knows  very  well  I'm  not,  and 
it's  awfully  mean  of  him  to  (all  me  sue  h  names." 

'{'he  fa(  t  of  the  matter  was  that  the  driver  did  know 
it  very  well  iiuleed,  but  he  had  hoped  to  win  money 
*"rom  Tom  llogan  through  Dannie's  prowess,  and  the 
boy's  persistent  refusal  to  fight  nettled  him  sorely. 

ft  was  therefore  an  unspeakable  relief  to  the  latter 
when  the  overman,  plea.sed  vith  the  fidelity  and  prompt- 
ness he  showed  as  tra|)per,  promoted  him  to  the  driv- 
er's box,  giving  him  a  route  over  in  another  part  of  the 
mine  from  that  in  wlii(  h  he  had  been  working.  He 
thus  got  out  of  reach  of  Dave's  ridicule  and  could 
perform  his  day's  duties  in  <  omparative  peai  e. 

He  now  in  his  turn  had  a  trapper  to  lord  it  over, 
and  was  able,  if  he  chose,  to  take  satisfaction  out  of 
him  for  the  insults  and  indignities  he  had  had  to  bear 
himself  Hut  that  was  not  the  way  Dannie  looked  at 
the  matter.  Poor  little  Jud  Farris'  experience  in  the 
mine  had  been  a  very  trying  one.  Naturally  of  a  nerv- 
ous temperament,  the  drivers  soon  discovered  his  fail- 
ing and  took  pleasure  in  frightening  him  half  out  of 
his  wits.  A  flivorite  trick  was  to  blow  out  their  lamps, 
rub  their  hands  with  matches  until  the  phosphorus 
caused  them  to  shine  with  a  ghostly  glimmer,  and  then 


tt^ 


il 


ti 


f  j|t  ! 

i! 

I, 


250  niK  KEsci'K  OK  i.irn.E  jun 

make  the  hair  of  the  Icrrilk-d  trapper  stand  on  end  by 
"ling  down  silently  upon  hin.  hoLlinK  one  ha..d 
,.,f.re  the  face.  When  thus  ,r.,htened  Jud  n  vcr 
failc-d  to  .live  under  his  seat  w.thout  delay,  and  to  rc- 
,„,i„  there  until  his  tormentors  had  passed  out  of  s.g  . 
Instead  of  eontinuiuK  these  tri.ks.  nann.e  took  httle 

,„,    ,vho  was  only  ten  years  old.  under  h.s  prote,  t.on 
w.,uld  not  allow  any  one  to  tease  him  >.  he  <ould 

prevent  it;  so  the  youuKster-s  lot  was  greatly  hghened 
Ll  he  learned  to  look  up  to  Danme  and  to  love  hnn 

Willi  al'  the  strength  of  his  heart. 

one  memorable  Saturday  in  the  month  of  February 
everything  had  been  running  as  smoothly  as  usual  .n  the 
..i„e,  and  the  pit  boys  were  in  hi,h  sp-r.ts  because  of 
the  nearness  of  their  weekly  holiday,  l-.ttle  Jud  was 
at  his  door  ;  and  Dannie  Robertson.  havn.g  h.tched  u. 
to  a  lonK  rake  of  "  empties."  was  drivmg  along  gayl> 
Lide.l,t  mind  fidl  of  pleasant  thoughts  of  tl.mc.. 

row  for  Sunday  was  the  happiest  da>  m  the  week  to 
hiu,  ;  when  suddenly,  without  the  slightest  warn.ng,  a 
whirlwind  of  dust  struck  him  full  in  the  face  w.th  such 
fearful  force  as  to  hurl  bin.  almost  «^^;-*^^«^^»  ^;, 
ground,  his  head  getting  a  deep  gash  at  the  back  where 

it  struck  the  iron  rail.  . 

The  next  instant  an  awful  wave  of  devourmg  flame 
swept  over  the  prostrate  boy,  accompanied  by  a  roanng 
as  of  the  loudest  thunder. 

So  terrible  was  the  violence  of  the  explosion  that  . 
lifted  Dannie  from  the  Hoor  of  the  level  and  reversed 

'"^  .  .     ,  1   ^ 1   »lw.  lw,Hnni  of   the 


r.is 


;a   Dannie  irom  ui^   ..>,. - 

position,  turning  his  head  toward  the  bottom  of  the 


tf    L 

ill 


mm 


f,   JUD 

r  stand  on  eiul  by 

\lLMu-d  J  ml  never 
;  delay,  and  to  re- 
passed Dill  of  i^iK'i'- 
Dannie  took  little 
der  his  protection, 
sc  him  if  he  <  onld 
is  greatly  lightened, 
lie  and  to  love  him 

month  of  I'ehruary 
othly  as  usual  in  the 
h  si)irits  because  of 
ay.      Little  Jud  was 
I.  having  hitched  up 
,  driving  along  gayly 
loughts  of  the  mor- 
tla)  in  the  week  to 
slightest  warning,  a 
n  the  fiice  with  such 
ost   senseless  to  the 
sh  at  the  back  where 

;  of  devouring  flame 
mpanied  by  a  roaring 

the  explosion  that  it 
lie  level  and  reversed 
ird  the  bottom  of  the 


TIIK    KRSCUK   OF    I.ITTI  F.    JUD 


251 


|)it  instead  of  in  liu'  diri'(ti(iii  t'lnni  wlii<  h  the  explosion 
had  come. 

For  some  seconds  lie  lay  niolioiiiiss.  Then  lie  stag- 
gered to  iiif,  iVet  and  staried  lor  the  jpit  lioitoin.  'I'he 
heat  was  intense  and  the  air  (  hoking  with  foul  vapor. 
1  he  deadly  foe  of  the  miner,  the  fatal  after-daiii]). 
would  soon  be  upon  him.  His  |iiteous  cries  tor  helj) 
brought  no  response  save  liie  roar  ami  crash  ol  llie  tail- 
ing roof  ami  timbers. 

l-eaning  for  a  moment  against  the  side  of  the  level 
he  founil  it  yielding,  and  ^jirang  a>vay  just  in  time  to 
save  himself  from  being  overwhelmed.  , 

'ihen  a  fresli  terror  revealed  itself  Mis  clothes  were 
on  fire  I  Saturated  as  they  were  with  oil  from  his  lamii 
and  from  the  oil  boxes  of  the  coal  tubs,  the  fien  e 
flame  had  ignited  them  and  ihey  were  burning  in 
many  |)laces.  In  fren/Jed  haste  he  tore  off  his  coat 
and  vest,  burning  his  hands  badly,  but  ridding  himself 
of  danger  from  that  source.  Then  lie  plunged  on 
again  in  the  ap])alling  darkness,  groping  his  way  with 
his  blistered  hands. 

Then  there  fell  upon  his  ears,  ])iercing  the  unfathom- 
able gloom,  a  jiitiful  cry  of,  '•  Little  Jud  I  Help, 
help!  Save  little  Jud!"  l?adly  burned,  almost 
blinded,  and  bleeding  as  he  was,  the  instinct  of  rescue 
rose  uppermost  in  the  heart  of  Dannie  Robertson,  not- 
withstanding, and  finding  the  hopelessly  bewildered 
little  trajiper  near  the  shattered  fragments  of  his  door 
just  about  to  rush  off  in  the  wrong  direction,  he  seized 
his  hand  and  hurried  him  along  toward  the  shaft. 


252 


THE    RESCUE    OF    LITTLE   JUD 


fill 


-},M 


It  was  a  frightful  jonrnty  for  two  boys  to  make. 
Huge  boulders  and  lumps  of  coal,  sometimes  piled  up 
almost  to  the  roof,  obstructed  their  way,  so  that  thty 
had  to  crawl  upon  all  fours,  (heat  masses  of  timber 
were  tangled  in  wild  confusion.  Several  men  passed 
tliem  shouting  for  helj),  but  in  the  darkness  and  ex- 
citement the  boys  were  not  noticed. 

Then  while  the  shaft  was  still  a  good  distance  away, 
poor  little  Jud  completely  collapsed. 

"1  can't  take  another  step."  he  whimpered,  as  he 
sank  down  exhausted.  "But,  oh,  Dannie  !  you  won't 
leave  me,  will  you  ?  " 

Tortured  by  his  terrible  bums,  dizzy  from  the  blow 
at  til.  back  of  liis  head,  and  weak  from  loss  of  blood 
and  the  fierce  struggle  to  escape  the  danger  that  threat- 
ened on  every  side,  it  seemed  as  though  Dannie  might 
scarce  save  himself  much  less  help  Jud. 

Yet  the  heroic  lad  did  not  hesitate  for  one  moment 
in  respondir.g  to  the  little  trapper's  apiieal.  Stooping 
down  he  pi(-ked  him  up,  lifted  him  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  thus  burdened,  staggered  on  again  with  many  a 
slip  and  stumble  and  fre(iuent  halts  for  rest,  until  he 
too  could  go  no  farther,  and  with  a  pitiful  groi-n  of 
despair  he  dropped  upon  the  wet  floor. 

"I'm   clean    done    out,"    he  said    faintly  to    Jud. 
"You   go  on    if  you're    rested.      Maybe   you'll    find 
some  of  the  men.  and  they'll  come  back  for  me." 
But  now  it  was  Jud's  turn  to  stand  by  his  friend. 
"Indeed  I  won't  leave  you,"  he  replied  with  spirit; 
"  I'll  just  stay  here  until  you  can  start  again." 


.E   JUD 

wo  boys  to  make, 
sometimes  piled  up 
r  way,  so  that  they 
It  masses  of  timber 
ieveral  men  passed 
e  darkness  and  ex- 

;ood  distance  away, 

e  whimpered,  as  he 
Dannie  I  you  won't 

di/./.y  from  the  blow 

from  loss  of  blood 
e  danger  that  threat- 
lough  Dannie  might 

Jud. 
ate  for  one  moment 
s  aiipcal.     Stooping 
I  upon  his  shoulders, 

again  with  many  a 
Its  for  rest,  until  he 
th  a  pitiful  groan  of 
floor. 
;aid   faintly  to    Jud. 

Maybe   you'll    fmd 
e  back  for  me." 
md  by  his  friend, 
le  replied  with  spirit; 
start  again." 


THE    RESCUE   OF    LITTLE   JUD 


253 


For  some  moments  the  boys  sat  in  silence,  little  Jud 
holding  fast  to  Dannie's  hand.  The  roaring  and  crash- 
ing had  abated  somewhat,  and  the  air  was  not  so  dreail- 
fuUy  oppressive,  but  who  coidd  tell  when  there  might 
be  another  explosion  that  would  overwhelm  them  in 
hopeless  ruin  ? 

Suddenly  Dannie  started  up,  and  pointing  along  the 
level,  cried  out  : 

"  There  are  lights,  Jud.  See,  they're  coming  toward 
us.      They're  looking  for  us." 

Sure  enough,  breaking  through  the  awfid  gloom  like 
twinkling  stars  of  yellow  light,  the  lam})S  of  the  relief 
party  came  into  sight  and  steadily  drew  near.  15oth 
boys  sprang  to  their  feet  and  shouted  for  joy.  The 
leaders  of  the  party  answereil  liack,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes more  Dannie  and  Jud  were  among  them,  answer- 
ing the  eager  ipiestions  poured  upon  them.  As  quickly 
as  possible  they  were  carried  to  the  shaft  and  sent  up 
to  the  surface. 

Not  until  then  was  the  extent  of  Dannie's  injuries 
discovered.  His  face,  his  hands,  his  head,  and  the 
upper  part  of  his  body  were  cruelly  burned,  and  he 
was  suffering  intense  agony.  Covering  him  with  a 
coat,,  they  hurried  him  to  his  home  in  a  sleigh,  and  for 
three  months  thereafter  he  never  left  his  bed.  Excru- 
ciating as  his  sufferings  were,  he  bore  them  with  wonder- 
ful fortitude  and  great  patience.  ( )ne  of  his  most  fre- 
(pient  visitors  was  Dave  Xorris.  Jud  had  spread  "broad 
the  story  of  his  rescue,  and  Dannie  was  the  hero  of 
Springhill. 


254 


THE    RESCUK   or    LITTLE   JUO 


"I'm  right  sorry  for  being  so  mean,"  said  Dave 
hmiibly,  the  first  time  he  saw  i)annie.  ••  If  somebody 
•ud  give  me  a  good  kicking  for  calling  you  names  it  'ud 
just  serve  me  right." 

At  last  Dannie  got  out  into  the  sunshine  again,  but 
oh,  how  changed  from  the  sturdy,  red-cheeked,  curly 
haired  lad    he   was   before   the  explosion  !     Shocking 
scars  disfigured   his  face,  scanty  patches  of  hair  took 
the  place  of  his  curls,  and  his  body  was  thin  and  weak. 

The  fLune  of  his  e.xploit,  however,  went  abroad,  and 
a  subscription  was  raised  among  the  school  children  of 
the  county  for  the  procuring  of  a  fine  gold  medal, 
duly  inscribed,  which  was  presented  to  him  together 
with  a  well-filled  purse. 

Neither  he  nor  little  Jud  ever  entered  the  mme 
again.  He  was  appointed  to  check  the  coal  deliveries 
at  the  surface,  and  Jud  went  back  to  school.  They 
are  greater  friends  than  ever  now,  and  often  talk  over 
the  terrible  experience  they  shared  together  m  the 
Springhill  mine  explosion. 


m 
'  111 


1  ^  ! 


■>..*!! 


Ii^„ 


LE  jun 

mean,"  said  Dave 
lie.  •'  If  somebody 
ng  you  names  it  'ud 

sunshine  again,  but 
red-cheeked,  curly 
cplosion  !  Shocking 
)atches  of  hair  took 
y  was  thin  and  weak. 
;r,  went  abroad,  and 
lie  school  children  of 
a  fine  gold  medal, 
ted  to  him   together 

;r  entered  the  mine 
ck  the  coal  deliveries 
ck  to  school.  They 
,  and  often  talk  over 
red  together  in   the 


